Tidal Waves and Hurricanes
by sisypheandreamer
Summary: "We promise," said Will. Little did they know that in two weeks time, Will Herondale would visit the library and find a small box… Exactly after the last page in Clockwork Prince. Herondale-centred.
1. Prologue: Five Years Ago

**AN:** Hullo all. I've got another story in my head and it's going to be a doozy. I do hope I actually follow through with this one, seeing as I rarely finish multi-chaptered stories of my own. This has been in my head for a while now and I'm just glad I can finally put it up. Now, this is set immediately after the end of Clockwork Prince. Call it my version of Clockwork Princess for the moment because I am an impatient little mundane.

**Disclaimer:** I could say I own these characters and the general plotline if I was Cassandra Clare but I'm not so I can't. I'm just a teenage girl with a blog. Also, title credit goes to a lovely little band called The Icarus Account.

Enjoy! I live for reviews and if you could be so kind so as to indulge me - that would be wonderful.

**Prologue**

**Five Years Ago**

Hurricanes were uncommon in Wales.

The sky outside of the Herondale home was booming; the trees thrashing against the violent gusts of wind. In replacement of the usual stars in the night sky, slashes of white lightning painted the black velvet canvass up above, accompanied by the unforgiving rain and the resonating roll of thunder.

Wales was pleasant enough when there were no storms.

The trees were lush, tall, and green. Ponds were scattered along the village where little children would often dirty up their skirts and trousers, to the dismay of their mothers. The Herondale home was not far from the village but it was secluded deep within the greenery. Edmund Herondale preferred the solitude or, as he would say, security. Leaving the Shadow World did not necessarily mean that the Shadow World would let you.

Not that his children particularly minded. Ella, the oldest, was motherly enough. The child was practically born forty years old. In his three children, it was only she who inherited her mother's warm brown eyes. The other two – William and Cecily – could not be contained in an iron cage. They'd rip it apart with their bare hands if they could. And they probably would. The three were content with each other's company. They were a package.

The hurricane blew on and it was the only sound that could be heard in that little patch of mundane Wales.

Well…

That.

And the incessant knocking on a wooden door.

Will woke not at the sound of the hurricane outside his window or of the knocking on his door. In fact, the constant rustle outside his room lulled him right into a deep sleep where he dreamt of brave knights on horses and princesses slaying dragons with their fingernails. That would have made for an interesting novel. No. The twelve year old boy woke to the sound of a shrill familiar voice at the other side of the door.

"Willy!" said the voice. "Willy, please wake up! Will! _Willy!_ Open the door, _please!_"

He threw his sheets off from him post haste and practically leapt off his bed. He opened the door only to be attacked by a little thing with thick black hair in a pale green nightgown. Cecily.

She embraced him tightly; he could feel her sobs on his chest. Brave, uncontrollable little Cecily who never, ever cried – not even when Ella had to set her leg when she fell from a tree and broke her leg in three places when she was six – was practically hysterical in his arms.

They dropped to the floor, his younger sister holding on to him for dear life. His arms were around her, melding her to him as though they were one being. And they were – they were practically twins. They even looked alike that when Will had long hair and Cecily cut hers, their own mother would mix up their names.

It was all he could do – brush her long, thick black hair, shush her in the softest voice he could muster, and tell her everything would be alright (though he himself didn't know what was wrong with her). Thunder roared again outside and he felt her wince against him and despite it all, he felt himself smile. He kissed her forehead and held her in his arms, his chin on top of her head, and began to sing.

"_My dear little Cecy_

_Was being so silly_

_And outside there was a storm_

_This dear little Silly_

_Cried out for her Willy_

_To hold her and to keep her warm_"

"Shut it, you're terrible!" she said, pushing him playfully but still clutching on to his shirt. Even with her crying, he could feel her smile in her tone.

"No, I'm not! My singing is absolutely fantastic!"

"That song gives me more nightmares than the bloody storm!"

"Language, my girl!" he teased, mimicking their older sister's tone.

"Shut it, Willy!" She was already laughing.

"When you stop being so silly, Silly," he murmured against her hair. Thunder rolled again and she drew closer to her brother. "Come now, would you like to sleep in Ella's room tonight?" His sister nodded and he helped her to her feet. He almost carried her in his arms but she wrestled away from him.

"I can walk," she said coolly. Will chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. "Besides, with your scrawny arms, I bet you couldn't even lift a sack of flour."

Will laughed and would have retorted had it not been for another round of lightning and thunder, wherein she whimpered and drew closer to him.

"There, there, now. We're almost there," he whispered to her, squeezing her little shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He at twelve and she at nine, he was still a good head taller than her.

He led her through the dark house. The candles were not lit and the only light came from the strokes of lightning out the windows. The curtains had been drawn but the rain still prevailed to seep through the cracks of the aged manor. Ella's room was beside the library, on the other side of hall. Edmund was away on business and their mother had to care for a sick relative and would not return for another fortnight.

He knocked twice and the sound of hurried footsteps came from inside the room. Out came Ella in a similar nightgown to Cecily's, brushing the obvious drowsiness from her eyes.

"What's all this then?"

Thunder boomed and Cecily let out a shriek. Ella nodded in understanding, ushering her siblings inside her room. Will set his little sister to Ella's bed and set her head on his shoulder, his arm still around her. Ella then lit a candle next to her bedside table and joined them at the opposite side of Cecily and put her arms around both of them. She tucked both of them under her blanket and wiped Cecily's tears away with the cloth.

"Now, now, little bird. You mean to tell me that brave Cecily Herondale, the girl who singlehandedly knocked out four of David Jones's teeth out," Ella started.

"And called Miss Halvasham "a slimy old spinster who should mind her own bloody business" to her face," added Will.

"And withstood Will singing in the bath."

"_Hey!_" Ella and Cecily giggled. "Why is it that degrading me is the only thing that can make you laugh?"

"Because you're so degradable?"

"That's not a word!"

"Yes it is!"

"It's not a real one, Silly."

"Well I made it one, Willy!"

"You can't just make a word!"

"I can too!"

"No, you can't!"

"Shut up, you git!"

"Language, my girl!" said Ella, hushing them both while they shared concealed secret smiles. "The point is, Cess, you mean to tell me that you're frightened by a wee bit of lightning?"

As if by magic, another roll of thunder came from the heavens and Cecily sunk lower on the bed, practically covering her face with the blanket. Ella shook her head, a bemused smile on her face. She looked down on her younger sister, the girl's blue eyes huge and round in fear. Her little brother only looked to Cecily and with every wince from the younger girl, he would squeeze her shoulder and remind her that he was still there. And he looked down on Cecily with those same blue eyes.

Ella blew out the candle and started singing them both a lullaby. Her voice was soft but strong, loud enough that it resonated across the room. Her voice was lovely and round, enunciating each vowel with gusto. It was a lullaby that their mother sang to her and now she sang to them. Neither Will nor Cecily understood the foreign sounding words like Ella did but the melody held them in place. The thunder roaring outside the house was forgotten and the only sound they heard was the voice of Ella Herondale.

"Will you both still be there when I wake up?" little Cecily asked softly, her eyes already succumbing to lethargy.

"Always," replied Ella. "We will never leave you."

"We promise," said Will.

It was quiet in Wales after that. The hurricane blew away eventually and the sky was blue again.

Little did they know that in two weeks, Cecily and their mother would go into the town for supplies and to fit new dresses. Little did they know that in two weeks and two days time, the Clave would come to visit and offer the Herondale siblings a place in the Shadow World.

Little did they know that in two weeks time, Will Herondale would visit the library and find a small box…

**A/N:** By the Angel, this was painful to write. I was sobbing through most of it, honestly. I'm working on the first chapter now and it should be up once I get the structure right. You can visit me on Tumblr at sisypheandreams or wearegravity to hurry me up or just read about the goings on in my life. Reviews are the greatest thing ever so please, do indulge me if you will. _Will._ **Will.** _**WILL.**_ TEARS.

Cheerio, loves.

xx, Jonnah


	2. Chapter One: A Sprig of Peppermint

**CHAPTER ONE**

**A Sprig of Peppermint**

Cecily Herondale was not a girl of many possessions.

She realized this as another girl was set on unpacking her things for her. She neither asked nor objected the help; rather, she sat at her new bed and looked around her new home. Her bag consisted of very few necessities – a solitary bottle of her favourite honeysuckle bath salts, her dresses – a record breaking number of four (excluding the one she was still wearing), her mother's handheld mirror, her father's family ring held on a silver chain, and a few books scribbled with different music pieces.

Not that she was unable to take anything from Ravenscar Manor or anything from her Uncle Axel, it was just that a Herondale had a certain degree of honour and there was none in taking what was not hers. The woman of the household – Charlotte, she said her name was – gave her a room not unlike the one in Ravenscar or her old one in Wales. It was spacious enough to keep a fourteen year old girl satisfied, decent beddings, and even her own vanity.

"I've unpacked all your belongings, Miss Cecily," said the little handmaiden.

The girl was a head shorter that she was but her features dictated their years apart. The helper must have been seven or eight years her senior, she supposed. Cecily was intrigued by the scar that marred the girl's beauty but spoke levels of her courage. A scarred girl was a brave girl. She ought to know that by heart, though she had none that were as permanent as the girl's. Little Miss Herondale did not bluntly voice out her curiosity though – even she knew where certain lines were drawn.

The girl had called her "Miss Cecily". She had never been called that before. Even in her youth, she was always addressed as "little bird", "little fach", "little Herondale", et cetera. It was not as though "Cecily" was a difficult name to remember or pronounce or even slightly hindering. Two syllables surely were not too much of a bother. But to be addressed as both "Miss" and "Cecily" – that was something she was not accustomed to. Where she was expecting to be addressed solely as "Miss Herondale" or "William's little sister", it came as a great comfort to know that she was still herself within those walls - the walls that had kept her brother safe and warm in the five years that she had not known whether he lived or died.

"Thank you, mum," she replied coolly.

"You could call me Sophie, Miss Cecily."

"Well I don't see why I should since you insist on calling me Miss Cecily as if I were being presented to the Queen," she started. "Please. A simple 'Cecily' would suffice."

"Of course."

"That will be all, Sophie," she said, straightening her posture. There was a certain superiority, a certain feeling of rise in hierarchy that could be achieved in the single instance of dismissing a handmaiden for the first time. Having served as one for many a household for a few moons, the reversal of roles was a gratifying change.

"Shall I draw you an evening bath? Are you not tired from your journey?"

"No, no. I prefer to do it myself. That will be all, Sophie," she repeated.

Sophie ducked her head and left the room wordlessly. The room was lit by candlelight and the sound of soft London rain graced the room. It was almost melodic, the soft pitter-patter of rain outside. The walls may have been made of cold stone but the entire room felt warmer. It felt like _finally_.

She moved to draw her own bath, adding her personal bath salts into the water. The steam from the warm water rose up and felt good against her bare skin. Her arms and legs were a bit bruised and scarred from previous quarrels but she knew none of them would stay on her skin. Most of them had already started to fade away. After trudging in the London weather, the warm bath was all the lullaby Cecily Herondale needed.

( * x * )

"Blueberry tea, Bridget," Will said. "And just a sprig of peppermint."

Bridget nodded briskly and prepared his request in the kitchens. She did so silently, thank the Angel, not drowning him in the sound of her morbid ballads. He was not in the right state of mind for her chants about the plights of her dear bloody (literally) Edward or whatever.

He would have prepared the tea himself if he trusted the shakiness of his own fingers. But he didn't.

"And two, exactly two, sugars. Don't forget the peppermint, Bridget! Just a sprig!"

"Will?" said a voice in the darkness. He had not even noticed the presence of another being near the kitchens. His only focus was the sound of silver hitting porcelain as Bridget prepared the tea to his precise instructions. The voice was familiar and was supposed to be a comfort, instead of adding to his already built up anxiety. It was unlike him to be anxious but there he was and the person noticed it, disbelieving that the nervous being in front of her was that man she had learned to know.

_Tessa._

"Where's Jem?"

He did not mean for the question to sound accusatory or condescending and he prayed that she did not take it like that. _By the Angel, this is going to be difficult,_ he thought.

The announcement of their engagement had been muffled by the excitement brought by the sudden arrival of his little sister. Both news of which were less than pleasant for Will – the former leagues more unpleasant than the latter.

"With Charlotte, Henry, and Gideon. They're at the drawing room. They were discussing on what they ought to do given the situation," she replied.

Oh, Tessa. Dear, sweet, kind, thoughtful, Theresa Gray, who was never subtle but always thought she was. Kind of her not to say the girl's name, though the both of them knew it without addressing the matter.

"Oh," he started. "What are you doing here then?"

"You weren't there." He felt heat flood through his face as she briskly added, "Which is understandable, of course, due to the given circumstance but I- I- I just wanted to see how you were after the- after everything, I mean."

"Neither here nor there, Tess," was all he could grit through his teeth. He forced the smallest of smiles to his lips. He could not bear to look at her as his eyes wandered to scan the kitchens for Bridget, who was meticulously adding the sugars to the tea. He could not bear to see those giant gray eyes of hers in the candlelight, looking like the colour of the sky after the hurricane, just before the Sun seeped through to reveal the new day.

Bridget returned with a single teacup in her hand.

"How many sugars are-"

"Two, Master Will."

"And the peppe-"

"Just a sprig, as you said, Master Will."

Bridget turned on her heel and walked off, leaving him with the tea.

"Earl Grey? At this hour?" asked Tessa.

"Blueberry tea, actually. Silly hates bergamot. She's quite particular with her tea."

The both of them were both silent stood in front of each other. It was true, though. The little bird was particular with just about everything she ate, as far as he could remember. She would not take chamomile tea without a hint of vanilla. She would never eat bread that was more than an hour from the oven. She adored bananas with fresh honey. She had the most bizarre wanting for green mangoes and fish paste, however rare that was. And her favourite tea was blueberry with a sprig of peppermint – exactly two sugars.

"Oh," was all Tessa could say.

"She used to take tea all the time before bed. It set her in the right mood."

"Do you really think that would be the best thing for her? For you?"

"It's just tea, Tess."

"It's tea from _you_, Will."

He had not spoken to his sister in five years. In those five years, he had not even said her name in conversation – except maybe to Jem, once or twice. The others who may have heard him whisper her name had thought Cecily was a pet or a former lover. He let them think what they wanted, the most despicable theory they could come up with could never degrade the reality of the truth.

In his mind's imagination, his little sister was permanently nine years old. Her face would eternally be the colour of cream, her features as sharp as her tongue, with eyes that could flood a man's heart. When he looked in the mirror, he saw not his own eyes but hers – for their eyes were one. The girl who arrived in the Institute, however, was different from the immortal nine year old in his imagination. The new girl still had a thick mane of hair that resembled black fire, cream-coloured skin and strong bone structure, just as his chwaer fach had. The new girl was taller, though, and her eyes were no longer the kind, mischievous pools of water that he had known as a child. They were now colder, sharper – little shards of broken blue glass.

"Could _you_ give her the tea, then?" he asked, his tone low.

"Will, I couldn't-"

"_Please._ I'll sleep better knowing that she has it."

Tessa considered this for a moment; his eyes were pleading with her. He needed Cecily to know he was there, that he remembered, that she was still home with him, that her brawd mawr still knew how she liked her tea.

"Alright."

"Thank you, Tessa," he said, handing her the tea. "Good night."

He walked away swiftly and quietly, melding into the darkness until he himself became a shadow, and then he, along with his quiet footsteps, disappeared completely.

( * x * )

Cecily looked at herself with her new vanity table.

The candlelight made her look like she was glowing. Her blue eyes seemed to pop from her skin. Her dark hair blended with the shadows, almost disappearing with the darkness completely. She was brushing her hair dry slowly, as her mother and Ella used to when she was a child. She seldom brushed her hair anymore. There was not much use for it.

She was already in a dressing gown that she found stowed away in the dresser, along with her other dresses. The dress she was wearing when she entered the Institute was haphazardly set aside on the floor, like a snake that had shed its former skin. She felt clean – she hadn't felt so clean in a long time – away from the dirt and grime of mundane London. She smelled like honeysuckle. The only thing that would give her a good night's rest would be a spot of tea. Perhaps she could go to the kitchens when her hair was fixed.

Cecily's room had remained quiet for a long time. She had been expecting some questions about her arrival or her brother demanding her to leave him alone. She was not prepared for the silence and it had been silent for about an hour. She was concentrating on untangling the knots at the ends of her hair when she heard two soft knocks at the door. She held her breath praying to God that it was not William. Not yet. She knew it to be inevitable but please, not yet.

"Who is it?" she asked, keeping her tone stable, praying that her voice did not betray her anxiety. She only knew three people in the entire Institute and dreaded the presence of one of them.

"My name is Tessa, Miss Herondale. I've brought you something."

Tessa. The name was familiar somehow but she did not know where she had heard it before. The girl's voice was unfamiliar so she must have been the girl at the dinner table. The girl next to the silver haired man.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Tessa, her statement sounding like a question.

"Come in, then," she replied.

Tessa came inside the room, still in her blue dress – made of satin by the looks of it. It was a beautiful dress, the kind that Cecily would often wait outside shops for and stare at but never afford for there were other things to buy. Like bread and milk and cheese and medicine for her mother… Tessa also had flowers in her hair, dark blue flowers that she could not name. She was carrying a teacup in her hand and immediately her eyes widened.

"Thought you might like some tea before bed," said Tessa.

"Oh," she replied. Cecily did not want to be rude to this girl (but she almost always was to just about everyone) but she did not want to have tea that were not to her instructions. There was a reason why she liked doing things for herself. "That's very kind of you, Tessa, but I'm afraid I'm a bit particular with my tea. I'm not fond of bergamot, you see."

"Oh, it's blueberry." Cecily's eyebrows shot up.

"Two sugars and a sprig of peppermint?"

Tessa smiled shyly and nodded. Cecily sighed, shook her head and pursed her lips. "William?"

Tessa nodded again. Cecily accepted the tea and put it on her vanity as she continued brushing her hair. "So… Tessa, is it? Are you a Shadowhunter too?"

"No, actually," she replied. "Actually, that's a bit of a difficult question. I don't know what I am, exactly."

"So you're a demon?" Cecily asked, her voice as calm as if she was just asking Tessa if she was a girl.

"N-no. I believe we can cancel that out."

"Oh. Okay," said the younger girl, brushing her hair. She was still looking at the mirror, concentrating on unknotting her hair. "Did he- Did he ever say anything about me?" She spoke softly, her voice breaking at the end. She was still looking at the mirror intently, as though her question did not faze her.

"Not often," Tessa admitted. "It upset him, thinking about how he left you. All of you."

Cecily only nodded and brushed her hair. She would not cry in front of this girl, who was obviously closer to Will that she was in the nine years she spent with him. Obviously, her brother had become a different person in his five years of absence from her life. And so was she.

"Thank you for the tea, Tessa," she said, her voice stronger. "But I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Tessa nodded and walked towards the door as Cecily started to rise from her vanity. "I hope you-" Tessa started and Cecily turned to her. And it was then that she saw the girl's eyes properly for the very first time. They were Will's eyes – exactly his eyes, and he had her eyes – exactly her eyes. They were one and they were both broken. "He thought about you all the time, you know. He even whispered your name in his sleep."

Cecily looked away and ducked her head. Tessa left the room and bid the girl good night before she closed the door. Cecily listened for the girl's footsteps to leave from the hall and the younger girl counted before the footsteps ebbed away. When all was silent once more, she threw the cup vehemently at the wall, smashing it and its contents against the stone.

She went to bed and forced herself to sleep, her room smelling of blueberry tea. With just a sprig of peppermint.

( * x * )

Will was not at breakfast.

Not that Cecily could see when she entered the room. When she awoke, the broken remnants of the teacup were gone and the floor had already been cleaned from the tea. She changed into a simple gray frock that may not have been the fanciest thing in her wardrobe but she daresay that she looked smashing in it. She was beautiful and she knew it to be true; she did not want a dress distracting from her face.

The people at the table were wary of her presence when she entered the room. The man with ginger hair (Harry or something like that – she was fairly certain that it started with the letter "H") was gobbling up eggs like the hens at the farm had been procreating like rabbits. Charlotte had a smile on her face but her eyes betrayed her doubt. The silver haired man looked up and beamed at her with kind silver eyes. The other one, the blond, looked up at her once and smiled but he was rather transfixed with the handmaiden – Sophie, her name was. She could not bear to look at Tessa and see whether or not she knew what had happened to the tea from Will.

"Good morning, Cecily," said the silver haired man. His eyes were of different shape too. They were unlike anything she had ever seen before, much like the men from Uncle Axel's stories.

"Good morning," she replied curtly. She settled herself next to the blond one, who did not seem fazed by her presence at all. He seemed the only one who was apathetic to her existence.

"My name is James Carstairs," said the silver haired man politely. "You may call me Jem. I'm a very good friend of your brother's."

"Oh," was all Cecily could say.

"I didn't know Will had a little sister," said the blond one.

She bit her tongue and fought back the urge to retort "_He doesn't._" Instead she just smiled and kept her head down low. She reached for the bread and began to break it apart using with a fork and knife. In front of her were tea, coffee, milk, and orange juice. She set herself with some coffee and exactly three sugars. She began dipping the bread into the coffee before eating it altogether.

"Where is William?" asked Charlotte. Harold (or something that starts with "H") seemed preoccupied with his eggs at the moment, revelling in the salty taste of the boiled whites.

"He took his breakfast early and went out," said Sophie. "He said he was going for a walk."

Cecily exhaled a deep breath and ate more freely with the knowledge that her brother would not be making an appearance at breakfast. Her elation was noticeable but none dared comment on her reaction to her brother's absence.

"So, Cecily, how did you manage to find your way to the Institute?" asked Jem.

"Some Clave people showed up at Yorkshire. Something about an investigation or rather. Asked me what my name was, if my father was Edmund Herondale, if I knew about Shadowhunters, and things like that. Told them what I knew, I did. They asked me if I wanted to be one and I said yes. They said I could go to the one with Mr Starkweather at Goodramgate but I've had enough of Yorkshire to last a lifetime. I've only been to London once, when I was nine, and they said that it would be good for me to be where… _he_ was. They wanted to accompany me but I wanted to say goodbye to Uncle Axel before I left. So I wrote to him, waited for his blessing, and I left. They gave me instructions on how to get here and now here I am."

All of them at the table exchanged a look when she mentioned "Uncle Axel" but she didn't notice. She was too busy dipping bits of bread into her coffee.

"And this Uncle Axel…" pressed Charlotte.

"Good friend of my father. Not really my uncle but he insisted that I call him that. But father turned to drink and gambled away everything we had. Mother… lost herself, basically. She spent her days looking out the window, calling out for her fach. Honestly, she forgot my name eventually. I had to find a way to get food on the table during those three years in Wales. When Uncle Axel showed up, he offered us to care for his home, keeping it tidy and the like, in return for a roof over our heads and a steady allowance. Father spends his days in his study now, drinking whatever liquor he can find. If he's not there, he's out gambling."

Cecily's coffee and bread were finished by the time she recounted her tale. Everyone at the table had stopped eating and listened to her story – save for Henry (she was quite certain that it was "Henry" at this point) who was still fixated with his eggs.

"What of your mother?" asked Jem, his tone kind, as if he were speaking to a child. And he was.

"Mother has just recently passed. Three days before the Clave men came."

"I'm so sorry," said Tessa. Even Henry rose from his beloved eggs, sending her a look of sympathy and condolences.

"It's quite alright," Cecily replied, smiling. "At least she's not in pain anymore; not looking outside whatever window was closest to her, waiting for someone who was never going to show up." They were all silenced after that.

It was a moment before Charlotte spoke again. "Do you still have a way for corresponding with your Uncle Axel?"

"I had this handmaiden at Ravenscar. She was complete rubbish as a handmaiden and I preferred doing things for myself anyway so that suited us just fine. We would give letters to her and she would just send them. I don't particularly know how but that's what we always did."

"And where is he?" pressed Charlotte again.

"Some green bloke asked me this too, though I don't particularly see how this could possibly be relevant to anything. But last I heard, Uncle Axel was somewhere in China. Shanghai, I think. Trading or something. I didn't really press on as it was none of my concern."

"Your father?" asked the blond one.

"Left. After mother was buried, he just left without another word. I don't know where he is. Not that it makes much of a difference as I rarely saw him when he was in the manor. Herondale men have a way of walking out of a home after a death. I didn't really have anywhere else to go but the Institute."

As if by clockwork, Will entered the dining area. There were bags under his eyes but otherwise, he looked clean. He was not feigning drunkenness or any form of illness – he just looked genuinely tired and settled himself a seat away from his sister. Cecily turned away and started fidgeting with the ends of her hair that she did not tie up. The table was stone silent once more. Tessa cleared her throat.

"So, Cecily. This handmaiden of yours. Was she-"

"Human?" Cecily completed. Tessa nodded. "No. Uncle Axel was a bit mad. Father said he must have been part warlock or faerie or something since he knew so much of the Shadow World and its inner workings. The handmaiden, the carriage driver, the cook – all made completely of clockwork. We barely had to care for the house at all, since there were all these clockwork servants about."

Will coughed and opened his mouth to speak when Cecily rose from her chair abruptly.

"I think I'll go for a walk around the Institute."

Cecily left without anyone excusing her and everyone at the table watched her go. Jem slipped his hand underneath the table and held his fiancée's hand. She squeezed it back and rose from the table. She sent a look at Will but all he was looking at was the now empty chair where his sister last sat. Cecily's footsteps were long gone before he tore his gaze away from her chair.

"She can't even be in the same room with me," he murmured. He rose from the chair, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. He, too, left the room, heading in the opposite direction that his sister took. Henry made himself busy with the eggs again and Charlotte could only watch the two Herondales part ways.

Jem looked to Tessa, her eyes boring into him, telling him what his own heart was urging him to do.

_He needs you right now. Go. _

She squeezed his hand and he rose from his chair, following his parabatai. Tessa rose from her chair and followed Cecily down the other hall. Charlotte, Henry, and Gideon's eyes followed the four of them as they all left the rooms. It didn't take long for Henry to become reacquainted with his eggs.

( * x * )

"Are you lost?"

Cecily looked behind her to find Tessa walking not far from where she was.

"Does it really matter that I don't know where I am if I don't know where I'm going?" she said, facing the other girl.

"You sound just like him, you know?"

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? That I'm more like William every day?"

"I suppose you have redeemable qualities of your own."

"Well I_ am_ better looking," said Cecily, a smirk on her face. Tessa laughed. Even her facial expressions matched her brother's. The younger girl's expression softened and looked away. The two of them walked along the hallway together, the doors looking stationary that it was practically impossible to know what door opened to where.

"I don't _hate_ him," said Cecily after a while. "I don't. I just- I can't look at him and be fine with it. Like I hadn't seen him or heard from him in five years. And we could have been dead for all he cared-"

"He did. He does. More than you know, Cecily."

"How do _you_ know?" asked the fourteen year old, her tone colder than she intended. The girl's blue eyes were piercing, cutting through her like broken glass. And that was exactly what Cecily Herondale was – perfect, pristine, crystal clear glass… that had been shattered once, never to be the same again. Broken. Just like her brother was.

"It- It's not my place to say," said Tessa. "But he didn't… _do_ what he did because didn't care for you. He loves all of you. Especially you, Cecily."

"Then _why the bloody hell _did he-" Cecily's voice broke and grew louder, her shrill voice resonating across the hall.

"Like I said," said Tessa, cutting her off, her tone soft but firm. "It's not my place to say. Please, Cecily. Please talk to him or allow him to talk with you. I know you're exactly the kind of person he needs right now."

"What kind of person is that?"

"The kind of person who loves him and always has."

Cecily scoffed. "What makes you so sure I still love my brother?"

Tessa smiled. "Because you just called him your brother."

( * x * )

**A/N:** I'm going to end it here. Woo! That was just horrible. My heart, my Herondale-loving heart just ugh. Take me awaaaaaaaaaay. I'm kind of proud of the fact that I wrote most of thing down in a little notebook at a Starbucks. So yay! How do you all like it so far? Hate it? Burn it with dragon fire? Please, please, please leave reviews! I am a glutton for feedback so I would love some. Pretty please? With Herondale-interaction on top?

**Disclaimer:** Again, I'm not Cassandra Clare. I'm just a teenage girl with a blog. The characters and the basic plotline are hers but the story and how it's going are mine.

I hope to update soon. This is amazing writing practice for me so yay! Hopefully I don't run out of juice on this one. Reviews keep my brain flowing!

xx, Jonnah.


	3. Chapter Two: Even Angels Stop

CHAPTER TWO

Even Angels Stop

_Charlotte,_

_My sincerest apologies for not being able to address your concern sooner; I am afraid what Miss Herondale has recounted to you is true. Yorkshire, usually untouched by things of the Shadow World, has been aflutter since the leak of Mortmain's alliance with Ravenscar Manor. _

_The men of the Clave were, in fact, here and sought out to question every Downworlder and Shadowhunter who may have been invaluable. The others pointed me as a newcomer and the Council was specifically interested in why I had developed an interest in the little village. Fear not, I had recounted a tale of my longing of peace and solitude away from the blood and smoke that is the London sky. _

_The investigation on the Manor had proceeded merely a day after Miss Herondale's departure from the place. Reports indicate that the place had been made clean of any dastardly activities. No word of the clockwork servants or Edmund Herondale. As to where he is now, I fear I do not know. I believe I would be able to track him if I had an item that belonged to him but, as mentioned, the Manor was clean. They found nothing of value in the Manor home – nothing unusual but books inscribed in Chinese, herbs and spices of Eastern origin, and the like._

_I currently seek the whereabouts of Edmund Herondale for I trust young Miss Cecily is secure in the hands of the Clave and I need not watch over her as you, and her brother, certainly will. I will report shall I find anything new and of importance._

_Sincerely, _

_Ragnor Fell_

X X X

"No!" shouted Will. "Absolutely not!"

"It is the mandate of the Clave," replied Charlotte kindly.

"I don't bloody care, she's just a girl!"

"And you're just a boy, William." She stepped from behind one of the bookshelves, being silent enough that no one had sensed her presence there. She knew how to be invisible as she had been so all her life. Her mouth was set in a line, her eyes fierce and piercing. "Do not discredit me as if you know me, William. You do not."

The meeting they had been discussing had been warranted from the request she had posed just the night before. Will, of course, was not supposed to be there; therefore, he was. The only one who was not there was Henry, who was much too occupied in his lab as he always was. Gideon preferred to keep out of the matter at hand. Tessa sat by Jem at a chaste distance, though their fingers grazed together every so often. He had been adamant at pressing the situation – that she not be permitted to become a Shadowhunter, that she be sent off to their family home in Wales with a multitude of servants who would keep her there and keep her safe.

"Our home in Wales had been sold. We were destitute before Uncle Axel found us and we had nowhere else to go-"

"The Clave can purchase the house-"

"And you speak for the entirety of the Clave? Are you of any significant importance that they do blindly whatever it is you say? I am a Shadowhunter by blood and by right and to withhold me from my wishes is against the Law."

Silence settled upon the room, Will's eyes looking away from her in defeat. No one in the room could look at anyone else in the eye. The only sound that could heard was the crackling fire. A few moments more and Will darted out the room without a second glance.

"He only means to keep you safe," muttered Tessa. Cecily let out a bitter laugh, bit her tongue, and shook her head.

"Well?" the girl asked.

"You begin training tomorrow morning," said Charlotte.

And with that, they were dismissed.

X X X

Gideon Lightwood was unperturbed by the ordeal.

Not that he was apathetic to anything but with the engagement of James and the arrival of Cecily Herondale, the Institute was aflutter about those instances rather than the betrayal of his father or of his betrayal of his own father or of his brother's questionable loyalty.

He walked around the corridors alone, as he always often did. Even in daylight, the corridors were damp and dark, as though living in a dungeon permanently. Then again, there was no difference to that for London was consistent in that one retrospect – that it was dark and damp and inconsistent, most of the time.

It was then made clear that it was he who will be training both Cecily and Sophie. Charlotte had preferred for Will to instruct her but she was not anticipating the apparent loathing that the girl had for her brother. Oh, how he empathized and envied them both. As much as she loathed him or appeared to, she must have some affection left for him. He was still her brother, still her bones and blood. By God, the way the light left Will's eyes as through even the angels in Heaven stopped to catch their breath at the sight of her coming in through those doors. Poor man had been through so much in a span of two days.

But then again, so had he.

X X X

The sun was peering through Wales that day. It was cloudy, mostly, and by God when was it not? Still, though. Wales was not familiar to the yellow light peering through from the white wisps above. You could see them roll around the mountains a lot and the sky was usually grey. If someone was to go into the woods by himself during the fogs though, that will probably be the last anyone will ever hear of the poor bloke. Or lass. But it was a pleasant enough to grow up in, Wales was. And much like that day, that last good day, oh Angel, when the Sun came through those clouds on rare clear days or even when the light seeped through the fluff… You could practically hear God gloating and sighing like He Himself can't believe He could make something so beautiful. It's all silent for a second because even the angels stop to gaze.

That was the last image that Cecily had of home, back when she was still allowed to be a child. She and her mother had only left for a few hours and Ella had complained of little less but a headache and the buildings of a small rash. It was probably something that grazed her skin when she was out in the gardens.

She shook the image out of her head, commanded it to never exist again; but, memories were cruel that way. You can never choose what to remember, much like you cannot always choose what happens to you.

Cecily sat in front of her vanity table, carefully brushing her hair, finding the repetitive motion somewhat soothing, bringing her back to a time beyond her, back to a land where even the angels stopped to wonder how something could be so beautiful. It calmed her frustration, soon enough her fingers stopped shaking and her shivers weren't by the cold.

There was a knock on her door and her brush stuck in her hair. Silence broke through, like respect for the angelic passersby.

"Who is it?" she said, her voice soft.

"Cecy."

More passing angels, some of them passing for the show. Will waited outside the door, his hands in his pockets, trying to remember the last time he knocked on his little sister's door. All he could remember was her knocking on his – she in tears, him her comfort. Who would have thought they would end up this way in merely five years?

For a moment, he sounded like himself, exactly as she had remembered him although much more grown up. Not like his father, no; his voice smoother, steadier – the kind that could woo knickers off the Reverend Mother herself.

The clacking of her heels sounded from the room, the sound getting stronger as she neared the door. Slow and steady as the sea.

The door opened. "Yes?"

Her intelligent wide eyes were bright, piercing – sharp as shards of shattered glass.

"We're going to have to talk sooner or later," he said, his hands still in his pockets, his hair hiding his eyes. His voice may have been his but his posture dictated otherwise. "Might as well get it over with."

She raised an eyebrow and her mouth twitched up to a smirk. "Get it over with – is that what you said to yourself when you left us?" She turned away from the door and Will stared at its frame. "Well, Will? Are we going to get it all over and done with or what?"

"I did not mean for it to sound like-"

"Yes. Yes, you did."

She went to her vanity and resumed combing her hair. She was already clad in familiar Shadowhunter black but it was different for him on her. She was so little when he left her – when he left all of them – still so free and fiery. The girl in front of him still burned but it was of a different kind of fire.

"Sil-"

"No, William. I will not leave here without being trained, as is my right by birth and blood. I will not have you train me. And you will have no say in what I do here or anything else."

"I'm still responsible for you," he said, his voice quivered with conviction.

"You abandoned that responsibility when you abandoned me, us. When you abandoned us."

All colour and conviction that Will may have gained, vanished. "I never meant to. I didn't want to!"

"But you did! You did, Will. Five years and not a letter, a word, a hair, a sixpence that may have fed us on Christmas morn, but you didn't!" Her eyes were closed, her fists clutching her hairbrush, her head turned away from him. A solitary tear had left her eye and she hastily brushed it away with the back of her hand.

"You killed me when you left, Will," she said through gritted teeth. "To Mother and Father, all they cared about was you."

"That's not tr-"

"Yes, it is! Every day and every night for five years, Mother would look outside a window, any window, waiting for you to come back home. And for a while, I did too." She looked at him then, the tears freely flowing from both their eyes. Will said nothing.

"I… I knew you would never leave me like that. Ellie'd already gone but I knew you wouldn't, not even if you were dead. You promised," her voice broke. "Both of you did."

"Silly, all I did was to protect you," he said, half whispering to himself. Was that even true though? He knew the fib of the curse, the lie that had destroyed him, his family, his beloved sisters… his beloved. So much had been taken away from him and in turn, he had taken so much away from everyone else. He was not the brother Cecily Herondale deserved but she was the little sister he so desperately needed. He needed that same little girl again, that weeping little girl to come and need him again, to come into his room and hold her until the lightning went away.

"Fine work you've done doing that, then," she said, brushing her hair again. Her fingers were shaking again.

"I know I've wronged you,"

"You've done much more than that."

"I know, Cecily. I know that. All I ask for is a chance-"

"You've had five years worth of chances, Will."

"Just let me explain why I did what I did."

"Why should I?"

"_I wanted the rose to be still on the bush. And my sweet beloved to still be loving me_. Please, Cecy. Hear me, just this once." And standing in front of her was her Willy again. She did not see the sharper angles of his jaw or the defeated dark circles under his eyes. He was the twelve-year-old boy, meek and lovely as a maiden, bowing his head, begging for his little sister to come back home – to him.

"Don't you dare use Ella against me, to make me listen to you."

"I just want to protect you-"

"YOU NEVER HAVE BEFORE!" she bellowed, her shriek bouncing off the Institute walls. "All those years, Mother never saw me again. She only saw you – she looked at me and saw you. You want me to go back to Wales – I have nowhere to run back to, Will! We've lost the house in Wales – Father threw away all the money we had for drink and gambling. I've had to keep house for others while ours rotted away for a penny or two, had to launder other families' clothes while I wore the same dress for months on end, had to steal and get beaten for it – just so mother would eat something other than mint leaves on water. You say you want to protect me then where were you when we needed you – when_ I_ needed you?"

"I can explain-"

"No," she said softly. "No more. Leave."

"Cecily…"

"I said leave."

"Chwær, please. I love you." He took a step closer to her.

"NO!" she yelled, throwing her hairbrush at him with all the force and strength that she had.

The brush hit him squarely on the side of his head. She was still strong, still swift, still with nearly precise aim. She rose from her seat and stormed up to him, pushing him out the door. He still begged in protest for her to listen to him but she only pushed, cried, and said no. She beat his chest with her fists, him trying to hold her wrists to calm her down as he did when they were children to have her calm down, but she wouldn't.

"Silly, please!"

"No! Get out! I have no brother, my brother is dead!"

She slammed the door in his face, locked it, and fell to the floor, her face buried in her hands, weeping as silently as she possibly could.

X X X

She heard Cecily's screaming through and walls and knew that Will had gone over to talk with her. It was never going to fare well, the first talk, that much she knew. Her heart pained for Will and Cecily both – siblings who had just found each other but for all the darkness and cruelty that their fates possessed, they were in for naught.

Tessa was in her room, alone. She paced quietly from one corner to the other, giving up on reading entirely. She tried to read, to maybe escape as she always did in her books, but through all the words that swum around the pages, the colour turns to the all too familiar hue of broken blue, the dark haired boy coming to mind with every hero and hopeless case and daring rescue and how the hero was supposed to always get the girl; the dark haired boy she can't help but-

A knock on the door and she could only stare at it. What if it was Will, completely inconsolable with grief? Her heart pained at what she had brought him through and everything else that had gone wrong for him. As though there was some kind of law that said that everything that could go wrong, will and would. What would she do if it were him and what would she do if it were not?

"Tessa?" The voice at the other side of the door was voice of the one she had promised herself to. She opened it and one look at him and she thought of kisses against walls and words she'll never be told again. And to see him as broken down as he was over her and to have another woman break him even more – even she could not take it. It was not her burden to bear but she held it in her shoulders, carrying it like a precious child in her womb.

She fell into Jem's arms and he held her close to him, brushing her hair with his thin fingers.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, her face half buried on the crook of his shoulder. He smelled of spice, tea, and London rain.

"But here I am," he said, soothing her hair.

"You heard the yelling this morning – he needs you," she replied, pushing him away gently, but only to look at him.

"I know. I just needed to make sure you're alright," he said, brushing stray hairs away from her face. "I know you care for him as I do so could not possibly be alright with this either."

Her heart sunk to her feet, the guilt rushing in. "Have you see him?"

"You worry for him." She nodded. "Fret not, my love. I know where he is. I'll take care of him for you."

X X X

He had not seen Will for the entire day.

Normally, this would not have bothered him as much but with everything that had been going on, Jem was worried. The girls were with Gideon in the training room, as was his beloved. He would have trained Tessa himself if were not so sickly but he agreed that Will was more qualified than he. If there was anyone he trusted with his life – his future wife – it was Will. He knew that to be true.

But he was not there for training and not even his sister was concerned.

Normally, when Will was not around, he would say that he was off at some mundane inn, saying that he had been dishonouring young girls and becoming intoxicated with every pint of alcohol he could get his hands on. But he knew, Jem knew, that Will never did any of those things. He was always the better man, much better than anyone else in the world chose to see him as. He was anti-modest, destroying himself for others despite the good that he is for reasons Jem didn't understand. He knew this to be true.

In all the years the two boys had known each other, people had always seen him as kinder. People would often be so kind if they too knew the finality of their lives, that each breath could be their last. Humans are born terminal but tend to imagine themselves immortal, as though they were assured of immortality. Jem knew death was coming and knew that if he was going to do some good in the world, he needed to do it then and there. Will made himself look as though he took the other path – the path that lived in selfishness, in frivolity, in hedonism. But he was good – selfless, even – and that, Jem knew to be true.

Which is why the strong scent of alcohol coming from the library had surprised him and the person laying amongst filth and broken glass had surprised him even more.

"Will, what are you doing?"

"Becoming what everyone believes me to be."

X X X

A/N: Ahhh, update after forever! I kept delaying writing this because Will/Cecily interaction kills me at this point. Right in the fangirl feels! The line that Will recites is from a song that you'll hear about soon enough (or if you're a sneaky sneak, you already know where I'm going with this). Thank you to Rachel, Anon Guest, and maryann544 for reviewing. It means a lot! I already have a bit of Chapter 3 written up so hopefully the wait won't be as long. Then again, feedback gets me motivated. Wink.

Thank you for reading! I'm looking for a beta – just hit me up at snapspotter or sisypheandreams on Tumblr.

xx, Jonnah.


	4. Chapter Three: Chante rossignol, chante

CHAPTER THREE

Chante rossignol, chante

The Herondale girls were taught how to become wives, sisters, and mothers – not ladies. Their education had been at home, equally distributed by their parents both. Their mother taught them the arts, things that they needed to survive mundane culture. The children excelled in their own field, never a squabble for superiority over the other – one good at something, the other – another. Ella had talented fingers, with a natural gift of melody, attuned to the harp and the black and white keys of the piano. She used those same fingers to sew and knit for her siblings, just as their mother did for them when she knew not yet how.

Will had a knack for poetry – his mother often laughing at his most peculiar choice of writers – and jolly debate. He conversed easily, so fluidly, a natural person for people. He was agreeable as a child, though still accompanied by an air to be right, even when he wasn't. Cecily accompanied her sister in talent, her voice that of a nightingale's. The wild little thing that she was, she was peculiar – much like her brother – with her taste. She had a palette that was not so easily pleased, often spinning together flavours and spices that their mother never dreamed of putting together but Cecily knew, she knew they would work.

It was a simple life they led at Wales, though their father warned them to never be complacent, to think more of the shadows than mere darkness, than mere absence of light. The children knew of their father's past, often he told it to them when they needed a good fright from the beyond – when they believed themselves too safe.

If their mother taught them to live, their father taught them to survive. He had honed them as much as he could; as little as he could, for them to stand a chance. Clearly not enough for Ella, but that was too late and too long ago. Ella and Will had precision in their arms, throwing stones to knives at barks of trees or sending smooth pebbles to skip through rivers and ponds, as though the forests were the enemy of the country. Cecily fared differently, her feet quick and light, seemingly flying from branch to branch and stone to stone by the riverbanks, even with her skirts.

The Training Room was no different from the forests of Wales, just beyond the old home she used to have. She shook the thought of grey skies and greeneries as she took in the mats on the floor, the nets that lay below the tree-like posts, weapons of different kinds at an array against the wall. The training gear was comfortable and she moved freer. However, she missed the swish and fall of air at her ankles at every brush of her skirt.

She put a finger to a sword as long as her arm, which was not that long at all, when Gideon called her attention to him. Sophie and Tessa were there as well but where Tessa was supposed to be instructed by Gabriel Lightwood and then by Will, Will had not shown himself. Her fiancée was not suitable, apparently, due to his lack of experience and questionable health, but he stood by amiably, smiling at all of them – though clearly his eyes were for and only on Tessa.

"Yes?" asked Cecily, her chin high and her arms crossed.

"I'll start you off with basic blocks. Miss Sophie, would you oblige to demonstrate with me?"

The girl did not reply but to everyone in that room, the reddening of her cheeks and the slow nod was answer enough.

They faced each other; the others left in the room watched them. Cecily, with her sharp eyes, missed little to nothing. It was Sophie who was on offensive, her jabs and kicks sloppy to the young girl's eyes. She had lived as a Shadowhunter's daughter for nine years and nearly destitute for money and provisions for three – she knew how to throw a punch. Gideon, on the offensive, was smooth and he knew every move that Sophie would take. Each duck and cover, each right hand punch or uppercut – anticipated, their feet dancing with each other as though not in battle but in a ball.

Tessa's eyes were half filled with worry – perhaps for herself or for Sophie – and half filled with a certain glow of something else. Pride, perhaps? Or amusement? Jem's expression certainly was, what with his shy smile and squinting eyes, stealing glances at his own beloved. Cecily could only roll her eyes at the four of them. Petty, the lot of them were, swimming in their own devotions to each other.

"Are you quite finished yet or would you rather I'd dim the lights out so you lot could…" she eyed them wearily, her arms still crossed. "Finish?"

It was Gideon's turn to turn red as he released Sophie from an arm lock that had both her arms behind her back, her neck firmly but gently captured in his arm. "_Dìos mio_, Sophie. You're getting better," he whispered to her ear before she chastely left his side to Tessa's.

"You're quite eager, aren't you?"

"I know what I came here for, Mr Lightwood," Cecily replied, arms still crossed.

"Please, call me Gideon."

"Well, we'll see if you've earned that."

She pounced without warning, her leaping to him, twisting mid-air to land a kick on his chest, then flipping to a short distance away. He charged to an offense to which she scuttled to the side. Her feet were swift; her arms close to her body. When he turned to face her, she kicked again just as swiftly, jumping a few feet into the air and landing with a flip.

"Where did you learn to move like that?"

"Grew up with William in a forest in Wales. What did you expect? A meek little girl who didn't know what she was getting in to?"

She ducked down, a swivelling kick at his feet, almost sending him to the floor but even Gideon was not to be outfought by a little girl. She was swift, unMarked, and much too eager. Perhaps Sophie and her simply being there had muddled his thoughts and him holding her in his arms (not in the way he would have preferred it) only moments ago, perhaps he had underestimated her for her size and her age; but, he had forgotten - Cecily may have only been fourteen years old but she was also William Herondale's younger sister.

He turned, expecting her kick, and when it did – he sidestepped and lightly tugged on her hair. The bun that kept it together was loose, her not yet accustomed to keeping her long black hair away from her face. When she turned to the side, he pushed gently on a pressure point on her neck, sending her downward.

"You can't just keep attacking, you need to watch your sides!" he said as he sidestepped to the other side of her and hit a point on her collarbone. She was still fighting but her upper body was off its usual balance, therefore – she was off her game.

She ran for another kick but Gideon deflected with his arm, sending her stumbling down. She lay face first to the mat, not daring to move in gracious defeat. When she moved to stand back up, Gideon offered a hand to help her up. She accepted and stood, her face somewhat turned away, her hair hiding half of her.

"Your speed and grace are admirable, _hìja_. But you are reckless, lacking tact, like of a bull that seeks only the red dangling cloth in front of it, never mind the pitchforks of the butchers at the side." He takes her by the arm and pulls, making her look at him. "Your balance is in your core, not by the way you hold your weight together. You need discipline, Miss Herondale, and control."

She freed her arms away from his grasp and pushed her hair behind her hair. "Yes, sir. May I rest?"

"This early? I thought you were so eager?" he asked, though his tone was kind. She had taken more than a simple blow.

"This time again tomorrow. We practice your balance and defence. We need to even out your strength. Learn how to bun your hair."

"I'd rather know how to fight freely."

"This is not simple fighting, Cecily," said Jem, coming in from behind. Tessa and Sophie could only observe and said nothing of the Shadowhunters who gathered among themselves, building up their youngest bud. "This is surviving. Our mandate is to protect not our own persons but those who cannot protect themselves."

"I understand. Please, kindly permit me to repose."

She looked at him with those same broken hue of blue eyes that mirrored her brother's, which made him remember that he was not there. He and Gideon nodded and she walked away without glancing back. Jem felt Tessa walk from behind him, taking his hand on hers.

"Where's Will?"

"I told you, my love," he said with kind eyes. "I know where he is."

X X X

Walking. Running. Past the endless corridors and doors that all looked the same and past the library that rested but a few doors away from where she ought to rest, Cecily found her way to her room, hastily going to her vanity table. She picked up her brush that she had hauled at her brother only hours beforehand and stroked her long hair, finding no tangles despite the fight.

Each brush was delicate and deliberate. Her reflection in the mirror lacked colour, lacked life. From the black of her hair, to the paleness of her skin – she had none of her rosy blush or lips. All was pale, blood drained from her face, neither by exhaustion nor defeat but by something else entirely.

It was her father who taught her how to fight and she only ever fought, really fought, with Will. The other boys she would play with took her lying down, took her as weak and always let her win. Will was born a father, a protector, and he knew better than to let Cecily believe that she needed protecting. He challenged her, made her lunge instead of run and made her block instead of faint.

When he had gone, it was a different battle she fought and in that war, she was a lone soldier, with flags not even recognised as an enemy. She stole to keep herself, her mother and father alive and when found out, she had to fight her way out. There was no other way but to attack or lest become prey. For so long, she had been strong enough. For so long, the need to keep forward had always been her guide – never to look sideways or back, to be distracted from what lies ahead, never seeking what could come from the side or from the shadows that her father often warned her about as a child.

The darkness was an intangible concept; nothing could actually come from the darkness and take her in. There only ever was light and the things that blocked it, the hindrances that kept her from her path. But which path was she on, which light was she following, and what darkness laid waiting at the sides?

And as she stroked her hair, her rhythm slowing at every strand, tears welled in her eyes, and she wept.

X X X

"_Becoming what everyone believes me to be."_

His sentence came out slowly, his voice slurred. Jem went over to his side immediately and noticed what was around him. Tattered pages of books, parchment scribbled around with words that had been erased and written with haste, and bottles upon bottles of alcohol – some of it on the carpet, were laid waste around the black haired boy - his eyes bloodshot and his clothes wrinkled and filthy.

"You're drunk. Let me get you out of here."

"No," he replied, forcefully pulling away from Jem's grasp. He remembered the night at the ifrit den, seeing Will so helpless and devoid of the Will that he always knew. Only it was different for never before had even life itself drifted away from his eyes; no light, no life, no fire.

"William, don't be ridiculous. If you wanted pleasant dreams, you could have gone to sleep."

"I don't want to dream, James," he said, again, pulling away from Jem's grip. He grappled for a bottle with a bit of alcohol left. "I want to die."

Jem bit back his tongue and kept still. Will had always been deprecating but never destructive. The finality of his words scared Jem, scared him of what Will was capable of doing and what he could do to himself. It was neither pain in his voice nor anger. It was more than that, infinitely more. It was all he could do to keep trying to carry him to his room, to the infirmary, to anywhere else but there.

"Leave me alone, James!" Will shouted, his arm motioning to throw the bottle to Jem but kept his grip on its neck.

"Will, enough of this!"

"I _have_ had enough! What do you think I'm doing?!" Will had risen, shakily, to his feet. Jem stepped back. "You have a reason to want to live, to cling to your life as you do – I do not."

"Will, you-"

"You don't know what it's like, James. You get what you deserve because you're a good man."

"But _you _are a-"

"No! Do not lie to me, James. I've lied my life away and know when I am lied to. To live a life I never wanted – to lie so I may never be loved, to do everything I can to not be loved. All to protect her, to protect you, to protect my family, to protect everyone, everyone I love for a lie!" Will shouted. He backed up against a wall and slumped from it. He bent his knees, his hands on his head, and began to weep. "Lies, James. All lies. So do not lie to me."

He was in hysterics, completely broken. There was no sense in him and surrounded by broken glass, Jem could not leave him. He blathered on about a curse, about a demon, and more about lies that he had told. Lies that Jem knew to be lies for he knew the truth of Will – the goodness that the world could not burn away from him. His goodness shone much too brightly for the fire to burn away but the strength of it was burning him from the inside.

The boy's face was streaked with dried and welled up tears. Jem had never seen Will so defeated, so destroyed – he hadn't believed it to be possible. Will had always been strong, steady though inconsistent he may have seemed - he had purpose, he had light. This was different; this was more than the night at the ifrit den. Jem had never heard him speak with such finality in the words he spoke then as he did at that moment, bottle in his hands.

"You must not go where I cannot follow," Jem half whispered, unable to address a dying man who could not find the will to fight - to live.

"But you are bound to another oath now, brother," he said, raising the bottle to him. "You will not leave her."

"My taking of another oath does not withdraw my oath to you or yours to mine," he replied, still kindly, attempting to make him stand. "Please, Will, let me take you to the infirmary. You are ill."

Will fought his way from Jem's grasp, all his remaining sense pulling in back from hitting his parabatai with the bottle he still held in his hand.

"Will, enough of this! Should Charlotte, should Cecily see-"

"Then let her see!" he yelled, standing with sudden vigour, the bottle still in his hand. The wind blew in from the already open library door, sending a chill inside. "Let all of them see, let them all be at peace." He smashed the bottle to the nearby shelf of books, sending the ends shattering to the ground; the shards covered with whatever liquid had been inside, now scattered across the littered carpet – soiling the cloth, the ripped pages of once beloved letters kept in secret.

"Let my faux burden cease being a burden to anyone else but me for my burden is I and I am my burden."

"Will-" Jem stepped nearer him but Will put the broken ends of the bottle to his throat.

"I am dead to my own sister and can't I grant her this?"

"She didn't-"

"To bring myself joy, I must bring you sorrow, and I cannot, I will not inflict that on you, James. But to keep me here, to want what I can never have, you are better off with someone more sincere."

"William, there is someone for you-"

_No. No one else but her_, he thought, but even his mind was not so far gone to reveal even that. He let out a bitter laugh. "No, James. There is nothing, no one, left for me here-"

"Not your sister?! Not even me?!" Jem yelled, tears running down his silver eyes. "You would do this to me, watch you die and let me do naught to stop it?"

"This is not about you, James. You have gained everything. I have lost all. I do this one last kindness, this one thing for myself."

The glass had barely grazed the skin, had barely cut off small bits of whatever stubble was there, Jem only half a heartbeat away to slapping the glass from Will's hand, when she came from the shadows again.

"GWILYM!"

The two boys turned to look at her half lit figure. Will had not heard that name in years and had not spoken the next for just as long.

"Seissylt."

The room was still as Cecily came to light, hiding from the bookshelves shadows. Neither of them knew how long she had been standing there but her hair was sleek and she was still in Shadowhunter black.

"You would be so cruel, brawd?" she whispered, her voice not breaking so much as it was broken. "So as to take yourself away from me just when I've found you again."

"Chwaer-"

"You would leave me alone? Again? Forever?" Her tears fell from her eyes, raindrops falling from her skies. Will lowered the bottle slowly, his mouth agape. Jem made haste and grabbed the bottle from his grip but Will paid him no mind and saw only his little sister in front of him, almost having had her watch him die.

"You said-"

"And you believed me? What would you have had me done – took you in without another word after five years of waiting? Of course I'd be bloody upset but I wouldn't want you to off yourself! You'd have that on me, make me know that it was me who killed the last family I had left? I thought you had more sense, you idiot!"

"I just want to protect you."

"And how will you do that if you're dead? Your ashes can't hold me in a storm, Gwilym."

Gwilym Owain Herondale had not heard his name spoken in five years. It had almost been as long since he had heard his mother language spoken in a native tongue. The words were stitched together in a way only a Welsh man could appreciate, a whale's song only to be understood by those who knew how to hear it. She stood there in front of him, the blue in her eyes as clear as the turbulent seas of nearby where they used to grow up. The storms and clouds that had disrupted their serenity soon blew away to mere wisps of white as there was always light that seeped through, always a little presence of the Sun to let them all know it was still there and there was always morning after the night.

When she spoke, she had their mother's voice. That same shrill pitch when it was angry, that same calm, soothing sound of hearth and home.

Will's mouth quivered to speak, to retort, to yell – something but he could only see her and the fire in those same blue eyes. He let out one sob, one great sob, one that echoed throughout the library, the walls with the books he called home as witness. Cecily looked to Jem and from silver to a different blue, they held one thing true. Jem took the bottle and slipped away from them both, closing the library's doors behind him as he left, leaving the two Herondales to each other – mirrored eyes that looked and saw and spoke.

She ran to him and he held her tightly in his arms, her sobbing into his alcohol-drenched suit but neither of them paid that mind. He buried his face in her hair and combed it with his fingers, as he did when they were children, granting her the comfort that he was there – that she was safe so long as he was there. And how, just a few moments ago, he had almost taken that away from her again.

She was still sobbing then, her grip around his neck as tight as though they never would have the chance again. He drooped to the floor, taking his little sister with him as she still held on to him for dear life, and he whispered to her in Welsh, whispered his 'sorry's and assurances and all the things he'd waited five years to tell her, things he never wanted – should have – said if he had not been so foolish.

While in his arms, he saw his mother's face – Linette's calm smile and darling voice that sung to him before he slept at night. The one of home, the one of comfort – the song of ages that her mother and her mother's mother sang to her, from back in the lands of France where some of his mother's mother's mother's mothers used to live, their tongues in native sweetness and rhymes, finding rhythms that sent scared little gentlemen to a sleep without nightmares, only pleasant dreams.

When the world quieted down for the both of them, when nothing could be heard but the soft whistle of the books that surrounded them – that witnessed it all, the quiet flicker of the candles lit from somewhere, to their heartbeats calming down – knowing that the storm had gone and was going, Cecily began to hum their mother's song.

"Did Mother ever sing again?" he whispered as shyly as Will Herondale possibly could.

"Only every night, praying it would call you back home."

"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?"

"Doesn't mean I don't love you," she looked up at him then, smiling at him for the first time in years.

"What would it take?"

"The truth. But that's for another day, brother."

The passing angels returned, bringing forth with them their silence. The library was filled with silence – the only sounds that resonated across the room were their breathing and the soft crackle of candlelight. Their storm had passed, their thunder had rolled away, and though they lacked but one in their number, the song still lulled them to sleep – that same foreign lullaby that was their only home left. Cecily hummed, then sung softly, bringing them both to sleep without nightmares, only pleasant dreams.

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

_Chante rossignol, chante,_

_Toi qui as le cœur gai_

_Tu as le cœur à rire,_

_Moi je l'ai à pleurer_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

X X X

**A/N:** I got this done rather quickly because I simply couldn't stop writing it. It's somewhat addicting. Translation of the song in the P.S. of this author's note. Again, many thanks to Bookworm and Lover, and Rachel for all the support and help and feedback. You guys are awesome. I love feedback so please, constructive criticism or praise works just as fine (because ehehehe narcissism). Again, I'd like to thank Rachel (**highways**) for being such a lovely beta. 3

Are there any more ships you'd like for me to see? Send me your theories and I might just incorporate them (and credit you, of course!) on here. Usual disclaimer, I'm just a teenage girl with a blog and not Cassandra Clare. The song? It's Maryse's lullaby to the Lightwood kids in TMI, if you need a refresher. What am I doing? Stay tuned! Catch me over at snapspotter or sisypheandreams on Tumblr, should you wish to!

xx, Jonnah.

P.S.

So long I've been loving you,

I will never forget you.

Sing, nightingale, sing,

Your heart is so happy.

Your heart feels like laughing,

Mine feels like weeping.

So long I've been loving you,

I will never forget you.

Brawd – brother in Welsh

Chwær – younger sibling/child in Welsh

Seissylt – Welsh origin of "Cecily".

Where do I get my facts? Google, yay! I apologize for any mistakes in terms of geography, language, and climate. I live in the Philippines and I've never been on a plane so I really do not know anything in terms of actual climate conditions or geography of Wales or London. All I know are from what I read in books… and BBC Sherlock mehehe. ;)


	5. Chapter Four: Inversneyde

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Inversneyde**

He hovered over her with bated breath.

"Gwilym, my love, you must stay in your room!" said their mother, coming in with a new bowl of lukewarm water and a washcloth in hand.

"I can't leave her, Mother. I cannot stay in my room, knowing she's ill and alone in here."

Linette set down the water and cloth at the small table beside Cecily's bed, right next to where Will was. The girl was breathing heavily, beads of sweat trickling from her forehead. She was sleeping; her eyes shut and squeezed together, though battling both a nightmare and the illness within her. Her head tossed from side to side, her hair around her face. Will held her hand in his, brushing her knuckles with his thumb, as he tried to shush her calm.

"You might-"

"I want to be here," he said, turning to face his mother then back to his sister. "I don't want her to be alone."

"You're too young, dear."

"The thought of staying in my room while she's here by herself and ill at that? Mother, please. I want to be here."

Will turned back to his little sister, his eyes trained on her face. Her eyes were closed and scrunched up in obvious discomfort. He took the cloth and dipped it in the lukewarm water, brushing Cecily's forehead with it. Linette put two fingers to her lips and smiled, despite it all. She put a hand at his shoulder – he didn't even look – then at his hair and ruffled it. He looked up at his mother then, though his arm still extended to his little sister's forehead, and gave her a weak smile. His mother bent down and kissed him on the forehead, looked at her ill daughter, and patted her son on the back.

"Oh, my darling boy," she said, squeezing his shoulder one last time before she left the room. "I'll just go make supper, then. If you need assistance, just ring."

Linette walked to leave the room but just before she reached the doorframe, she looked back at her children; her son still brushing away at her youngest daughter's forehead.

"Sing lullabies to her," she said. "She likes those."

"Mother, she's already ill. I don't want to give her night terrors."

Linette breathed a small laugh to which her son replied with a smirk – so much like his father's. "Well read her a story or poetry. That might help her."

Their mother left the room, her heels clacking away. Will held on to Cecily's hand with his, and with the other, he dabbed at her forehead with the damp cloth.

"_What hand but would a garland call,_" he started slowly, trying to remember the words. With every poem he had read, he tried tremendously to recall them to quote to his mother and sisters. And oh, how they glowed at the cleverness of him, he believed. His mother was right – Cecily would like that. He knew. "_For thee who art so beautiful?/O happy pleasure! here to dwell/beside thee in some healthy dell…_"

X X X

"_What joy to hear thee, and to see!/Thy elder brother I would be,/ thy father, - anything to thee!_" Will said groggily, head tossing to the side. Cecily laughed as she dipped the cloth into the cooling lukewarm water. She squeezed out the excess into the bowl and then dabbed at her older brother's forehead.

She sat at his bed, just beside him, two silver bowls at his bedside table – one filled with the clean water she had been using to clean his face of the alcohol. Where Will managed to acquire such an alarming amount of alcohol at so little time baffled them all, but she was constant at his side, caring for her brother in a way she never had the chance to before. Though it was nothing she was new to – even her father succumbed to drink with no one else but her to clean up after him.

Will tossed his head again, groaning. She took his hand in hers and tried to soothe him with the cooling damp cloth. His white button down was rolled to his elbows, the Marks still scrawled on him. Was there such a thing as a sobering rune? Even if there was one that existed, she neither possessed a stele nor did she know how to draw runes.

His eyes flickered open, still moaning as he did so. The dim morning light was too bright from the covered infirmary windows and the cloth he felt wiping him clean was much too cold. A vile feeling burned inside of him, with him feeling all of the drink he'd had the night before washing fire through his insides. He rose from his position and as did the feeling – it grew and grew until he rolled to the side and became sick. Cecily was at the ready with the empty silver bowl at his bedside table, her patting him on the back.

When he was through, he tiredly slumped back on his pillows. Cecily set back the bowl filled with sick at the table and wiped his mouth clean with the cloth she was still using.

"Serves you right, you drunken sod," she whispered, dabbing at the corners of his mouth.

"Language," he murmured. She laughed.

"You're one to talk, Willy," she said, fluffing the pillows he laid on. "You just lie still and rest. We can talk later."

"How long have you been here?" he whispered through nearly closed lips. His eyes were drooping to a close.

"Not long." She brushed her fingers across his hair. She had been there since Jem and Gideon had carried him to the infirmary, when both them had been found at the floor of the library. He had been surrounded by broken bits of glass; some of them stuck to his skin, which Sophie dutifully removed. "Just sleep, Gwilym. You've been through much."

She brushed the hair on his head slowly until his breathing slowed and became steady and she knew he was asleep. Still, she ran her fingers through her brother's head and sang their mother's lullaby.

_À la claire fontaine,_

_M'en allant promener_

_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle_

_Que je m'y suis baigné_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_

_Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

A small knock came from the entrance door to the infirmary and in came Tessa and Jem, hand in hand.

"How is he?" Tessa asked quietly, her other hand atop her heart.

"He's unaccustomed to the drink and will have hell to pay when he really wakes up," she replied. "But he'll be right as rain soon enough. Have you told Mrs. Branwell?"

"No," said Jem. "All she knows is that Will had had a little too much to drink in the library. Nothing too awful, thank the Angel. Nothing that she wishes to happen again."

"It shan't," said Cecily. "I'll make sure of it."

"_Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes:/Then why should I be loath to stir?/I feel this place was made for her;/To give new pleasure like the past,/Continued long as life shall last,_" murmured Will, his eyebrows scrunching together. Cecily took his hand to her lips and kissed it, brushing his knuckles with her thumb. She shushed him to silence, to stillness, to sleep.

"That's Wordsworth," whispered Tessa.

"He read poetry to me when I was ill as a child," Cecily started. "When I would wake, he would start singing to try and make me laugh. And he did, only because he was absolutely horrid at it."

Cecily stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"How long have you been in here?" asked Jem.

"Haven't left his side once," she replied.

"You ought to sleep," said Jem. "Or at least eat."

"I can take it."

Tessa stepped towards her, reaching out to the girl. "You really ought to rest and-"

"No," said Cecily curtly. "I don't want him to be alone."

Tessa sat next to the girl, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, on Will's bed as he laid there in peaceful slumber. Jem set his cane near the bedside table and sat at the chair in front of it.

"He won't be," said Jem after a while. "We'll take care of him for a while. You ought to rest or clean up and eat, at least."

"I want to be here," she said.

"You won't be of much help to him if you let yourself get ill," replied Jem, his tone still kind. He saw so much of her brother in the way she spoke, the way she hovered over him. They finally looked like the Herondale siblings he had always imagined they would be: Will, more peaceful than he had ever seen him – even in his sleep; and finally, Cecily – his one last piece of home.

Cecily stood and took the dirty bowl in her hands. "I'll just be a moment. I need to clean this. And maybe lie down for a minute or two," she said to no one in particular.

"Let us take you to the kitchens and have Bridget fix you up a cup of tea and some biscuits," said Jem, also rising from his seat, cane already at hand. Tessa followed suit.

"I don't want to leave him alone," said the girl, sitting back down, holding her brother's hand, the bowl on her lap.

"I'll stay," said Tessa. "I won't leave him."

Jem smiled at his beloved as she sat back down on the bed. He kissed the top of her head. "You're an angel, darling."

"What if he wakes and calls for me?"

"I'll tell him you're resting and should he call for you, I will personally run to where you are and tell you that he is," said Tessa.

Cecily nodded, took the bowl from her lap, and stood. She allowed herself to be escorted from the room by Jem, his cane making gentle brushes against the floor.

The two of them left the infirmary and the door closed with a screech. The beds were empty, clean, and white. Will still lay asleep as Tessa sat still on his bed, watching his closed eyes see while he was dreaming.

The last time she had seen him in the infirmary, he had been getting shards of metal and glass taken from his bare back. She could still hear his stifled screams and grunts of pain as Brother Enoch pulled the shards out of him.

Only. No.

The last time they were in the infirmary, she had a bandage wrapped around her head, him bringing her a tisane to help her relax. She remembered the faded vision she had, the scent of lemon in the air. He remembered the concern in his eyes, in his lips, and how he held her – and how it hurt him – and how he didn't care. She remembered how she was curled up in his arms and how he tilted her chin and how he was so close to her.

"Tess," he muttered, his eyes still closed. She felt tears in her eyes and held her breath. The corners of his lips turned and he frowned, still sleeping. "_I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse."_

Though she knew he was still sleeping, she put her fingers to her lips. She laid her other hand atop his and held it firm. "_I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself," _she quoted.

She recalled that moment in the book, that so-terrible moment that she never believed herself to actually live out. How Lucie must have hurt to see him go, to see him waste, to leave him as he was and with no power to change it – no power to make it better for him when he had given her everything.

"_For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything,"_ he murmured, as if he could hear her and her thoughts – feel her presence there, giving her the goodbye she would have had if he had carried through with his intentions.

She bit back a sob, tears falling from her eyes, as she came to know what he had done. The drink, the last kindness he had promised to Jem. How distraught he was when he recounted their conversation in the library to her, and how adamant he was that no one else knew of what he almost did. Will would not want them to change around him, to treat him with the same fatality that they treated Jem with.

Will's eyes soon opened slowly to her silent sobs. She brushed her eyes quickly before his vision cleared up from the drowsiness.

"Tess," he said again. "Where's Cecily?"

X X X

Their walk was a silent one.

Cecily's eyes fought to remain open as she had been up half the night and the whole morning, caring for her brother. She hadn't known that her words would have had so much on him, that she would still affect him so. All the years they had been away and she thought he had left her, there was a pain in him – like something had been ripped from inside.

She had seen it in her father when Will left them. When they returned from London without Will, she had blamed her father. She had lashed out at him for casting Will away, for failing to reclaim him. She then blamed Will for leaving them, for being so selfish so as to cause their parents to lose two out of three children in a span of days. She started blaming herself, for not being enough for him to stay. She wondered if there was something about London, something about the Institute that was more than their family could give to him. While she coped in anger, her father coped through drink. Edmund must have believed the same of himself for his son's sudden departure, not even seeing his mother goodbye when they came to the Institute to beg for him to come home.

She didn't think she could forgive Will for leaving them alone but to hear him say that he would pay his life as penance to her, then she could try. She would have to – to still have some semblance of home.

"When Tessa and I came around to the infirmary," Jem started, breaking her out of her reverie. He looked down to her as he spoke, his hands idly swinging his cane. His eyes were a bright shade of silver, as was the hair on his head. His features intrigued her but when he spoke, he carried the same tone as any Englishman she'd ever known. He looked at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked, shaking her head from drowsiness.

"Tessa and I heard singing before we came into the infirmary," he said. "Was it you?"

"Oh," she nodded. "Yes. Our mother sang that lullaby to us when we were children and especially when we were ill."

"You have a beautiful voice," he remarked.

"Thank you," she said noncommittally, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. They made it to the kitchens where Sophie, who was setting the table and polishing the silverware, greeted them. The girl took the dirty bowl from Cecily's hands and went off to wash it. Jem called for Bridget to come and get them some tea and biscuits.

"How did you like your tea?" he asked. "Tessa said you were particular about it."

"Oh, yes," she said. "Blueberry tea, if you've got it. Two sugars. And a-"

"Sprig of peppermint, Miss?"

She nodded and Bridget went off to the kitchen. Even from where they waited, they could hear her and her awful ballads of a heartbroken Sally or some sort.

"Do you have a taste for mint?"

"Not really. The mint from the sprig increases the flavour of the blueberry, giving it a bit of an aftertaste."

"Really?"

"Truly. My mother had spices all around the kitchens. Ella, Will, and I played around with food, while helping mother prepare for supper, as children. I took more than a liking to it."

She wiped her face with her hand and tried to take a step forward but her knees gave way and she stumbled. Jem, who was at her side, caught her in time and curled her to him, his hand on her waist to keep her steady.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm so sorry, I'm a bit lightheaded is all." Jem's hand was still around her, his other hand atop his cane.

"You're tired. Let's get you to your room to rest," he said, helping her walk. Bridget came along with her tea prepared. Jem balanced his cane on his arm while holding the cup. He was still helping Cecily to walk in a steady line.

"Is this what you do for Will?" she asked after a while of walking, her voice slurred from lethargy.

"Heaven knows it goes the other way around," he replied. "It's usually him who makes sure I'm still standing. He's always been so good to me – more than I could ask for in a brother."

"He's always been like that."

"When he left-" he started but she did not let him get a word in edgewise, to explain Will's actions for him. She knew. She's always known, perhaps, but she never truly hated him. She never really could.

"I know," she said. They had reached her room. She pulled the handle and let them inside. Jem set her down her bed and her head rested on the pillows. Thank the Angel she was still in Shadowhunter black and freely breathing, free from her corsets, and could sleep for a while. Steam rose from the still-hot tea that Jem laid at her bedside table. He'd had something else to say but Cecily was already fast asleep.

X X X

"She went off to rest and have something to eat. Jem escorted her to the kitchens. She'll be back soon," she said, forcing a smile.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, seeing her hand holding his – he held hers back. "You're crying."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, smiling still. "Are you?"

"I'll be alright," he replied, his voice still weak. He pulled away from her hand then and massaged his temple, his head still throbbing. A deep guttural sound came from his stomach and he winced at the pain. "Feels like hell turned water in my insides, though."

"Do you feel sick?"

He hoped not. Becoming sick in front of his sister and having her clean him up was one thing, but to have the woman he loved who was not going to become his wife do the same? He wouldn't dream of subjecting her to that. He willed for his insides to calm, to become well – that he might regain his senses again.

"Just famished, Tess."

Tessa rose from the bed and the doors opened as Jem walked inside the room.

"Will," was all Jem could say.

"Where's Cecily?"

"I had Bridget give her some tea and she fell right to sleep in her bedroom before the biscuits even came," said Jem. He walked to Tessa's side and then sat at the spot where she had been sitting before. "She's just tired."

"I'll ring for- I'll go get you some food." Tessa patted Jem by the shoulder and walked out of the infirmary. Unbeknownst to the boys, the tears that had welled up in her eyes fell freely with every step towards the kitchens.

When Tessa had gone, Will spoke. "James-"

"Never," said Jem, breaking him off. He ran a hand through his hair, then looking at his parabatai already regaining colour back in his cheeks, his blue eyes becoming brighter at every passing second. "Never frighten me like that again, William."

"I am sorry, James. Truly." The boys looked at each other in silence then, taking the other in the bleak almost afternoon light that peered from the windows.

"Cecily called you something," Jem said, breaking the silence.

"Brawd? It's brother in Welsh."

"No, no. It sounded like your name."

Will closed his eyes and nodded. He lifted himself to sit, his weight propped by his elbows. The movement strained him but it was a welcome relief from his cramped muscles that had been lying in bed all day, doing nothing.

"Gwilym, you mean."

"An endearment?"

"No," said Will, half-amused. "It's my name. My Welsh name. Gwilym Owain Herondale. With Cecily, it's Seissylt Gwyneth."

"And your other sister?"

"Ella Maris," he said. His name and his sisters' names rolled off his tongue.

"You never told me that," said Jem, playfully pushing at Will's covered knee.

"I always thought that if you knew, you'd start laughing at me with 'Owain' whenever I upset you and I would never hear the end of it."

Jem chuckled. Then Will did. They settled into silence once more and then looked at each other, both smiling, and burst into laughter. The sound of Will's laugh had not left him for ages, the brightness of his blue eyes returning to him. Jem appeared fairer and in the light, he was practically glowing.

The door opened while the boys were still laughing and Sophie entered with a tray of food: hot soup, tea, and a few small loaves of bread.

"Where's Tessa?" they both asked at the same time. Jem grinned at Will and he tried to return his amusement, until he could look away and force the redness of colour to leave his cheeks.

"She said she was feeling rather tired and wanted to lie down for a while," Sophie replied.

Jem rose immediately, eyes narrow in worry. He made to walk to her room but then he looked back to Will, who was watching him go.

"Go on and go to her," said Will, trying to keep the smile on his face, the light in his eyes.

"I gave your sister my word that I wouldn't leave you alone."

"Well you call tell her I made you go," said Will, shrugging. "You can't deny an ill man his wishes and look at me – I'm so ill, I've got a blanket!"

Jem nodded and smiled at Will who was straightening his back as Sophie put the tray at his bedside, collecting the bowl that had the cloth and the cooled once-was-lukewarm water.

"Remember your oaths, brother."

"I'm sure you'll always remind me," said Will.

Jem, with cane at hand, almost ran out of the infirmary to Tessa's room. Once Sophie had laid out the food at the table, she stood by his bed expectantly.

"Is that all, Master Will?"

"Yes, Sophie. Thank you kindly."

"Are you feeling much better?" Sophie looked at him not with the same glaring eyes. Her look was softer, like she was staring at a dying man on his deathbed – which, in essence, he was.

"Yes, thank you. I'd like to be alone now though, if you don't mind."

Sophie opened her mouth to retort – expecting his usual rudeness – then shut it tight as Will pleaded with his eyes. She nodded briskly and walked out of the infirmary, the doors again closing with a creaking sound. He looked at the food at his table, when he was so famished but a minute ago, now he could not bare to look at it.

He slumped back to bed and covered his head with the blanket. He forced himself to sleep once more but the light from the afternoon shone through the windows. The infirmary was so quiet without anyone else there. It was for this reason that that day, when his sister was ill, that he refused to leave her alone. The freedom in thinking left shadows to whisper in the silence – the same shadows of his mind that whispered to him the night before. And so he spoke, by his lonesome, the same poem he spoke to her, wishing that it would also grant him dreamless sleep once more.

"_Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,/Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part;/For I methinks, till I grow old,/As fair before me shall behold,/As I do now, the cabin small,/The lake, the bay, the waterfall;/And thee, the spirit of them all!_"

A/N: High five if you noticed the BBC Sherlock reference! Quotes from To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde by William Wordsworth and A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens (Part 2, Chapter 13 – AKA the death of my heart and soul because bb Sydney Carton feels). This chapter was not beta-ed as I'm looking for another to help Rachel (**highways**). You can go to sisypheandreams or snapspotter on Tumblr and send up an ask. Things are getting a little cray, school-wise, for all of us. In line with that, I'm starting undergraduate thesis for my Bachelor's degree in a few weeks and I'm very nervous and I'm going to be very busy in the next three months so updates might be slower than before and for that I must apologise. Are things getting a little too slow for this fic? I promise, the next one's a doozy.

Thank you so much to Amy is Rockin, Hannah R, Kelli, Anonymous reviewer, DramioneFremione4eva, dewikaka, and Fransizka for all your lovely words. Can I just say that reviews, especially constructive ones, mean the world to me and it makes me so glad to know that there are still people like you all left, especially Hannah R and Fransizka. I'm so glad to hear that I'm doing rather well on the description parts of places I've never been to so hah! Yay!

Again, thank you ever so much for your patience and for reading this little fic of mine. Reviews make Will Herondale happy and we all know how much he deserves it!

xx, Jonnah.

P.S.

"Maris" is pronounced "mah-ris".

Facts, again, taken from google. Ehehe.


	6. Chapter Five: In Between

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**In Between**

"Honestly, Silly! I'm a grown man, I can-"

"Hush, Gwilym!" she said, mimicking her mother's tone, shoving a spoonful of lukewarm soup into her brother's mouth.

Some of it dribbled onto his chin as he threw his head back and yanked the spoon from his mouth. He swallowed with some difficulty and eyed his sister grudgingly. Her lips curled to a mischievous smirk as she batted her eyelashes excessively, holding the soup in her hands. He poked her side to which she jerked to the left with a loud "ha!" and he poked her there until she tried to block him; while in a giggling fit, the bowl filled with soup scattering onto the floor. He attacked his sister with merciless fingers, remembering all the spots he knew would send her doubling over with laughter.

The room was filled with her gleeful screams and their mixed laughter as never had a room shared a pair of Herondale siblings' laughing for many a year.

They were both still laughing, Will's arms around his sister and effectively trapping both her arms in his embrace.

"Oh, you're horrible," she said, in between laughs. He felt her lie against his chest, still trying to calm her giggling. He rested his chin atop her head and he laid them both back against the headboard of his bed, thinking on how he had even woken up.

He had woken to the smell of hot soup resting beside him, the soft tinkle of the silver spoon as it spun against the porcelain making him blink his eyes open. The scent of ginger and spinach greeted his senses as he saw his sister sipping from a bowl herself. The sight of her there, eating by his bedside, was such a familiar sight he believed himself to be dreaming or that the last five years had been a dream – some great and terrible dream – and he was twelve years old again.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice still slurred from sleepiness.

"I don't know, really. I saw the recipe in one of Uncle Axel's books and I thought I'd like to make it. How this Institute got a hold of green papaya, I'll never know!" she said, taking a small chunk of the chicken and then eating it. "Here," she added as she forced another spoonful of the soup into her brother's yawning mouth. "It's good."

"Whasinis?"

"Really oughtn't talk with your mouth full, Willy. Very unattractive. No wonder you're not married yet," she said, another spoonful to his mouth, truly waking him from his stupor.

The siblings lay there, trying to wait for their laughter to subside. The scent of the spilled soup filled the room. The soup had been quite good, the broth warmed him inside and it was sweet, had a certain zest to it, and the spice from the ginger still lingered in his mouth.

"Better?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Much," he replied, smiling. She smiled back and shook her arms free from his embrace. She poked him in the cheek and squeezed his nose lightly.

"Then maybe now you can stop being such a git and tell me the truth."

He sighed. He wanted to tell her but if she were to stay here, that would mean her knowing about Tessa, and he would not put that burden on his chwaer fach's shoulders. Not after every burden he had already tasked on her to bear when he left her – when he left them.

"Can it wait?"

"I've done my waiting, Will. Five years of it," she said and she was suddenly older. He remembered and realised that the sister he was holding was no longer nine years old, that she had many storms she had to brave in the dark, with no one to run to. "What happened?"

He looked at her for a long moment, deliberating on what to tell her – or just how much he should tell her. Her eyes were pleading; her big blue eyes seemed doll-like and near tears and he knew he could not deny her the whole truth. It would be lying to himself and therein lied his weakness, he could never escape the reality that he lived in and it would only be unfair to her to keep her from what took her insouciance away.

He started with the library when he was twelve. Cecily remembered that day to be one of the days when she and her mother had set out to the town to buy new ribbons for her hair and dresses. Ella opted to stay home. Cecily hated going to the town, teased by the run-of-the-mill hooligans who played around the streets, throwing all sorts of rubbish amongst them as though it were some sort of game of toss. Will told her of the horrors of Marbas, recalling the blueness of his skin and the tone of his voice – the sound of all his nightmares amplified in one being. Cecily kept silent for all of it and, when he thought about it, it was probably the longest she had ever gone without giving him a remark filled with her usual snark. He told her of Ella's bravery and the assurance she gave him, all until they found her dead the next morning.

Cecily said nothing as he told her of his decision to leave, in fear of the curse he believed to be true. He told her of how he had lived in the Institute for five years, he told her of how he had confronted the demon only – that less than a week ago, he found out that the past five years and all the people he had hurt were for naught. He told her of how he dreamed about her at night, of taking care of her again, of bringing her to the Institute to train under his tutelage, of growing up with her once more.

He told her everything – everything but Tessa.

Cecily remained quiet until he finished and Will had managed not to stop from recounting his tale, all with the absence of breaking down in tears or professing his love for Tessa to his baby sister. No, that was something she did not have to know.

She just stared at him, her eyes affixed to his and for once, he could not read them. He plunged into the colour of his little sister's eyes, entirely similar to his own, but found that he could not wade to the shores and part the clouds to see blue skies as he had before. He was not drowning in them – he was afloat, getting carried off into lands he did not know.

"So…" she started. "Basically…"

"What?" he pressed. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips. She then sighed and looked at him, her eyes filled with reproach.

"You're an idiot, then." He saw that she had some semblance of a small smile on her lips, her eyes softer – like glass turned seawater, and clearer than the light of day. "Honestly, Willy, you may not be the handsomest man in the world-"

"I beg to-" he started indignantly but her expression turned teasing.

"And your manners could send the Queen to her grave in scandal but did you honestly believe you could that be unloved by your own family, by me of all people, if you'd just run off? For five years?"

"I thought that by making you hate me, I could protect you, cariad."

"I never needed you to protect me, Gwilym," she murmured, hiding her face at her brother's chest. "I just needed you there."

He kissed the top of her head. "I know, cariad. I know now."

"How did you know that none of it was real, though?" she piped up again, after a short silence.

"Tracked down the demon with the help of a warlock friend."

"Ooh," she said, looking at him with a smirk and her eyebrows upturned. "A warlock _friend_" – her emphasis on friend, elongating the vowels, rather than warlock – "the scandal, good sir!"

"Shut it, wicked little witch." She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. He only held her tighter and started smoothing her hair with his hand.

"When did you find out, then? With the help of this warlock friend of yours, of course," she said, nudging him with her elbow. He guffawed and shook his head.

"But a few days ago but I've been searching for it for a few weeks."

"Why only then?"

"Circumstances had changed."

"Like what?" she pressed. He pressed his lips together and looked away from her. He could not lie to her – he never could. She knew how to read him for she helped write him down, despite not being with her for years, and he knew her. He had known her from the time she was but a cover of a book, filled with blank pages and spilled milk.

"You wanted someone to," she started. He turned to look at her, eyes wide. "You wanted someone to love you, after all that making-people-hate-you rubbish. You could stand believing your family hated you for you believed us safe; but you wanted-"

"Seissylt-"

"You wanted someone in. Something changed your heart. Or some_one_ changed your heart. Oh, someone_ is_ your heart!"

"Silly-"

"Oh, God in Heaven – I was merely teasing with that warlock but-"

"Seissylt Gwyneth Herondale, I am not dallying with any warlock!"

"So you say. Maybe not lately-"

"_Silly._"

"Only teasing, Willy." Will rolled his eyes and thought on his words, momentarily remembering the last time he had said something similar to someone else. "But I am right? Right?"

He swallowed whatever moisture was in his mouth and swallowed. "In certain respects."

"Then who is it? Because it can't be me and so you say, it's not your supposed warlock friend."

He opened his mouth to blabber out an excuse that he couldn't tell her and that she didn't have to know; but the door opened suddenly and a dishevelled looking young man entered the door, accompanied by five other Shadowhunters in their gear.

"There she is," said the young man. "Arrest her."

X X X

_Neither here nor there, Tess._

He had told her he was. She could still hear his strained voice over and over in her head. When Jem told her what Will had done – what he had almost done – his voice and his words kept bouncing to and fro from her head. Each corner she turned, she could not escape the angles of his face and how it dropped when she did what she did, rather what she had not done: told him the truth. And she couldn't – she could never.

Yet still, when Jem told her everything that had happened, she could not shake the image of Will so broken and defeated, she could only think on what he could have possibly thought to bring him to such lows. Had he left so unloved – so unworthy of light – that he would resort to such desperation?

_Don't say that. I love you, Tessa. I love you._

She stifled a sob, biting her finger, wiping a tear that had fallen from her eyes at the memory of that day, of that moment.

_For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything._

Here was where, Tessa Gray could not begin to fathom. She knew him to be in-between – happiness at finding his sister, sadness at finding her distaste for him. He may have already reclaimed her affections, she thought to herself. The way Cecily hovered over her brother – the way she would have done for Nate – proved that. But then, in gaining back his sister's love, he still lost hers. Still in-between, she knew he was. Could he ever be truly happy? And could _she_ - knowing that he never could?

She remembered the explosion at the warehouse and how he risked his life to save hers. She would not be alive if he had not loved her and he almost died – killed himself – believing that Tessa never could. But she did – and still does. It was not a question on who she loved more for she loved Jem and she loved Will with the same heart but in different ways. She could not choose one without hurting another and whoever was hurt – she would be hurt in the process. Perhaps she should choose no one and hurt everyone and let no one be happy.

But she could not do that to Jem, nor to Will – she would not be the girl they both loved if she did.

The morning light was dim. The walls of her room looked darker than they usually did and even underneath her sheets, her toes were cold. Tessa had not left her quarters since she retired for bed the night before. She could not bear to return to the infirmary and see Will there, having every declaration of his shout in her head, feeling as though her heart was being repeatedly cut in half swiftly, as her life poured on the pavement.

Sophie knocked on her door to inform her of breakfast. Tessa declined, complaining of a headache and indeed, she was already pale and peaky. She was facing away from the door, looking to the window where little morning light shone through. Her bright grey eyes were wide open, staring at nothing as her mind lay scattered – just as the shredded pieces of herself floated like specks of dust, only to be visible by what rays of sunlight the London sky allowed.

A knock came from the door and she turned her head, squinting at the doorframe. It opened and the first thing she saw was the back of Jem's head, his shining silver hair practically gleaming. He turned and she saw him carrying a tray of food, his dragon-handled walking stick dangling on the crook of his elbow. He was smiling at her, his grin seeming to light up his bright silver eyes. Tessa put the back of her hand on her forehead and wiped off what sweat had gathered there. She sat up, her back against her headboard. Her messy brown hair cascaded to one side as strands came loose from the braid she had left it in before sleeping.

"Good morning," he said, practically bouncing to her side.

"Good morning."

He sat not in front of her but beside her, setting the tray's legs lightly on either side of her lap. He leaned over quickly and planted a quick kiss on her cheek, sending warmth to her toes. Jem chastely set his hands together and grinned at her. He had never looked so young.

"You're happy," she remarked.

"Why wouldn't I be? Will's got his family back and I've got mine" – he said, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand then setting it back – "I have nothing to complain about."

Tessa ducked her head and looked away, smiling despite herself. The tray was laden with freshly baked bread, a small serving of jam and butter, a small pot of tea with two cups, and a bowl of hot soup she was not familiar with.

"What is this?" she asked, swirling the contents with a silver spoon.

"I don't know, really," he admitted. "Cecily made it. She's quite the cook, so it seems. She made use of practically every exotic spice the kitchens had to make this one soup. She brought a serving of it to Will. There was quite a lot of it and I daresay, Henry seems to have passed on eggs for this dish."

Tessa looked at him in mock astonishment.

"I know," he said, grinning wider. "It smells rather good. I thought it might make you feel better."

Indeed, the scent was unfamiliar but more than welcome to her senses. It smelled of spices that did not feel intrusive or overpowering – it warmed her insides, in fact. She took a tentative sip and immediately, the taste of ginger and the essence of meat danced around her mouth. It was flavourful, warm, and just as good as Jem predicted.

"Quite good," she admitted.

"I would assume so, as your eyes lit up the moment the spoon touched your lips," he said, still grinning. She took another spoonful of soup and held it out for him. He raised his eyebrows and his smile turned crooked, reminding her a bit too much of Will. He bent and sipped the soup from the spoon. He made a sound of satisfaction, eyes closed and shoulders slumping.

"She's a wonderful cook, it seems," said Tessa, retracting the spoon and dipping it back into the bowl. "Will said she was peculiar with flavours."

"Did he?" he looked at her, eyes wide. "He'd never said a word to describe her that way to me."

"Oh," she replied. She looked down at the tray in front of her, swallowing what moisture had gathered there. "He just mentioned it in passing. I saw him near the kitchens the night she returned and he was asking Bridget to prepare tea in a certain way as he said Cecily was particular with her tea."

"She did seem quite methodical at breakfast the next morning," Jem concluded. "Perhaps food to her is what books are to Will."

"Perhaps."

They spent the rest of their time eating the small breakfast Jem had brought to her room. She spread jam on small bits of bread she nipped from bigger pieces, the way she saw Cecily do. Jem tried to feed her bits and pieces but she ended up laughing, almost tipping over the tray. He instead poured her tea from the pot and to her surprise, the taste of bergamot was not as welcome as it had been before but she took it in nonetheless. Something about it seemed off now.

"We really must- Er-" Jem started, his face turning pinkish.

"We must what?"

"Talk about the wedding," he whispered, tucking in his lips. Tessa smiled at his bashfulness and put a hand lightly to his cheek.

"Perhaps another day," she said. "I'm not feeling particularly wel-"

"Of course, of course," he uttered, his tone apologetic. He started coughing then, each one strong and each one making her heart constrict in her chest. He was on borrowed time, she knew. She knew exactly why he was anxious to marry her – he didn't have much time to be married to her. They both knew that.

And through his coughing fits, they heard glass break and the shrill scream of a young girl only a short distance away.

"_WILL!_"

X X X

Two Shadowhunters were holding down Will Herondale while two other dragged little Cecily away by the arms.

"Come now, little girl," one of them whispered to her. "It's not going to hurt."

Cecily struggled in their grasp, even aiming to kick one of them from the side. She almost succeeded but they were too quick, already Marked. Tears started streaming down her eyes in anger, in fear. Will, she could see, looked murderous – his eyes were the colour of raging blue fire, she could see the faint outline of the veins on his forearms as he struggled from his captor's hold.

"Gabriel Lightwood, I am going to cut your throat out with a teaspoon," he threatened and nothing in his features hinted that he was at all joking.

Gabriel said nothing but returned his glare with equal hate and ferocity. He started walking away, the other Shadowhunters dragging Cecily with them, when Charlotte, Henry, and Gideon burst through the doors.

The infirmary was in a state of chaos – beds were scattered, some of them battered and broken. There were ripped sheets and rumpled feathers everywhere. Even against five – now four, as the last one had gone through the hole that was once a glass window – Marked Shadowhunters, the Herondale siblings would never go without a fight.

"What is the meaning of this?" Charlotte cried out.

"The Clave has been informed that a spy for The Magister is being housed at the London Institute – the sister of a most _beloved_" – he spat the term out at Will as though it was acid – "Shadowhunter. I have a warrant for her questioning under the Mortal Sword."

"What?" the Herondale siblings exclaimed in unison.

"Lest you believe you are above the commands of the High Inquisitor, _mum_?" spat Gabriel.

"Did father set you up for this?" demanded Gideon from behind.

"Father is dead!" he snapped. "Not that you'd care." Gabriel turned to the men. "Take her."

Cecily pulled her arms from the grasp of her captors but found their grasp too tight, getting tighter the more she struggled. She kicked at a nearby bed and jumped, kicking both of her captors, all while pushing her arms at them as if punching. She moved swiftly and practically leapt to her brother, holding him by the waist and burying her face in his chest.

"Don't let them take me," she begged. "Please don't let them take me. Don't let them, Will. Don't let them."

The Shadowhunters holding Will had let go the moment she hugged him to her. Gabriel looked just about ready to rip her limb from limb with his teeth.

"Will, we can't deny an order from the Clave," said Henry kindly.

"I won't let you take her," he said quietly as he brushed her hair. She was still in hysterics and he could feel her crying.

"Where is the Mortal Sword?" asked Charlotte.

"It is in the Libr'ry with Bro'er Enoch," said one of the Shadowhunters at the side of Will.

"Goodness grief, Matthew. You could have just questioned the girl in here instead of frightening her half to death," said Henry.

"We thought 'ere was gon' be a fight," he replied.

"You are not taking her," said Will, his voice still deadly quiet.

At that, Jem and Tessa came into the infirmary, Tessa in Jem's coat as she was still in her nightdress. Gideon started whispering to them with haste, relaying to them the events that had just occurred.

"By the Angel's sake, just take the girl and be done with it!" commanded Gabriel.

"Touch her again and you'll go the same way as your father!" Will spat.

"Mention my father again and you'll go the same way as yours," he replied.

"Will, the Clave just needs to be sure-" Charlotte started but Will shot her a deadly look.

"Damn the Clave! You're not taking my sister!"

"Will," said Tessa. "It's just to be safe. They'll leave her alone the moment they lose evidence against her."

"Tess-"

"Will, please," she said. For a moment, it was alone the three of them – Will, Cecily, and Tessa – and he could care less about the rest of them all. They stared at each other for a second that contained an eternity and he sighed. He pulled Cecily away from him gently and he looked into her tear-stained eyes and for a moment, he was reminded of thunderstorms that seemed light-years away.

"Cariad," he whispered to her, his tone gentle. "You'll be alright."

"But I-"

_Would you believe I would let them do anything to you that would hurt you? _He murmured to her in swift Welsh, his native tongue rolling off his tongue like an old forgotten sweet he'd liked as a child. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her atop her head.

"You will not take her," he said. "But we will go with you."

Gabriel turned his head and walked out of the infirmary, not even looking at Gideon as he passed him at the door. Will and Cecily followed soon after, the other Shadowhunters right behind them. Charlotte, Henry, Gideon, Tessa, and Jem followed soon after. As they walked, Will was distantly humming a faint lullaby only they knew as he held her close by the shoulders.

X X X

Gabriel led them to the library where one of the Silent Brothers had a handsome looking sword in his hands. He looked grim – as most Brothers did – with his stitched mouth and severe stare. Gabriel turned to Cecily and pulled her then pushed her forcefully in front of Brother Enoch, who was holding the blade with its hilt having the appearance of outstretched wings of an Angel. Will stepped forward to strike him but his sister turned about to Gabriel, any and all traces of fear had gone from her face.

"Handle me thusly in the same manner ever again,_ sir_, and I will promise you that I will make your innards into a quiche and make you eat it." Will, despite it all, found that he was smiling at her, believing he had taught her well.

Charlotte and the others took seats near the doorframe. The other Shadowhunters looked purposeful at Gabriel's side as if bodyguards. But that couldn't be so – he was but a young man, he couldn't possibly have some sort of position on the Clave.

Cecily turned to Enoch, more frightened at the prospect of the blade than of the man carrying it. "Who are you? Why do you look like that? Are we going to duel – like the witch burnings, that if I win then I'm a spy and if I lose and die, I'd be innocent; because honestly, I don't mean to be rude sir, but I don't think those robes were meant for swor-"

_Hush, girl_, they all heard in her head. The tone was not hard of reprimand but was softer than was expected of him. Still, Cecily went silent. Enoch held out the blade to her. _Take the blade and answer all questions asked with honesty. _

"Not that you'd have a choice in the matter," muttered Gabriel. Cecily took the blade in her hands.

_State your name and your position, girl_, said Enoch.

She swallowed and looked at the wall behind Enoch, avoiding his eyes. The blade seemed rooted to her skin, like little hooks fishing out the truth from her veins. Little pinpricks seemed to root her feet to the pavement at the question and her jaw clenched as she spoke. "I am Seissylt Gwyneth Herondale. Also, Cecily Herondale. I was born and raised in Wales. I am the youngest sister to Gwilym Owain – rather, William Herondale, Shadowhunter from the London Institute; and daughter to Edmund Herondale, steward of Ravenscar Manor."

_What is your relation to The Magister?_

Her head turned to the side, her eyebrows scrunched together. "The Magister? I know not of whom you speak." The pinpricks laid still.

The Magister is Axel Mortmain.

"Uncle Axel?" she uttered, a tone too loud. "He's my father's sponsor – a rich benefactor with one too many estates and plots to run and not enough friends and staff to house in them!"

"SHE LIES!" screamed Gabriel, attempting to jump at her, but one of the Shadowhunters held his arm back.

_Where is The Magister? _Questioned Enoch, not phased by the young Lightwood's outburst.

"I don't know," she stated.

_How did your father become steward of an old Shadowhunter's home?_

"My father gambled away the family fortune and when that was gone, he sold away the deeds to the family estate in Wales that my mother inherited and then gambled that money away. He met Uncle Axel at one of their gambling clubs – Pandemonium or rather – and took a liking to him, offered for him to become the steward of the place while still sponsoring his gambling habits." The words flowed out Cecily unceasingly. She spoke without stopping and much quicker than her usual speed of speech.

_Your mother?_

"My mother is dead – lost her sanity 5 years prior in grief at losing my brother and sister within days of each other. She knew nothing – was but a doll that was fed, washed, and moved around from house to house before we settled in Ravenscar and she passed there."

"Why do you call Mortmain your uncle, then?!" Gabriel demanded, stepping towards her threateningly.

"He insisted! He presented me with books and cookery to keep myself occupied, telling me not to disturb my father in his study. And I didn't. Father fled the manor a few days after mother died and I don't know where my father or Axel Mortmain are."

A long silence filled the hall as Cecily held on to the blade of the Mortal Sword, looking straight on to Brother Enoch. Will was barely breathing, his last hitch of air still lingering in his lungs. It was a moment before the chilly sound of Enoch's voice filled their heads again.

_She speaks what she believes to be the truth. Her mind has not been tampered with. _

"NO!" Gabriel shook off the grasp that held him to the spot and lunged for her. He took her by the shoulders and she let go of the blade in shock. He shook her violently, screaming "SPY! SHE'S A SPY!"

She stepped back after a second and flung her arms, slapping him hard with the back of her hand. As his face turned at the strength of the slap, Will met it with a punch straight on the nose – a punch so forceful that the sound of his nose breaking resonated across the whole library. Gabriel Lightwood met the carpeted floor at the attack from the Herondales as Will held his little sister to him.

Brother Enoch remained stoic, the blade already in his hands. He made to move out from the Library without a word to Charlotte and the others, the other Shadowhunters following suit. Matthew stayed behind and bent down to Gabriel, carrying him with his shoulders.

"I'll just leave 'im in the infirm'ry 'til 'e comes 'round," he said.

"I'll go with you," said Gideon.

The trio left the Library, as followed by Charlotte and Henry who had excused themselves in a hurry as to inquire with the Clave the reason for the sudden trespass on the Institute. Only Jem and Tessa stayed, drawing near to the brother and sister who were whispering to each other in soft voice in a native tongue neither of them were familiar with.

"Are you alright?" asked Tessa, her voice small.

The two Herondales turned to her and she found that she did not know to whom she was referring to.

"I'd like to lie down," whispered Cecily. Will nodded, holding her by the shoulder. Jem laid a hand on Will's shoulder and for a long second, the brothers looked at each other with ghost smiles dancing on their lips. He nodded swiftly at the couple and looking away just as quickly. He left the room and escorted his little sister to her bedroom, leaving the couple alone.

X X X

Cecily barely spoke for the rest of the day. They were just there, in her bedroom, laid down on the bed. The siblings barely moved an inch from when they had first settled on her mattress, Will constantly looking over at her as if she were in mortal peril every half second that passed. He seemed even catlike with the way he turned from Cecily to the door and to just about every inch of the room.

Soon enough, like all little girls do after a long day, little Cecily Herondale began to fall asleep. Her brother held her as her head slowly bobbed and bobbed to a still against his chest. Her muscles relaxed minute by minute and soon enough, her breathing slowed and he knew she was fast asleep. He watched her breathing for a long time before he found his head resting at the top of her head, his eyes slowly fluttering to a close.

In fact, Will was halfway asleep when the door opened and in came Tessa Gray with a cup of tea in her hands.

His eyes grew wide at the sight of her and she hesitantly walked into the room, forcing a smile.

"I remembered what you said," she started. "About Cecily needing tea before bed. I thought that- Since- With the whole-"

"Thank you," was all Will Herondale could say in response. She remembered, she listened, she cared, and for that – Will could barely look at either of them.

"It's the way you said she liked it," Tessa added. She laid the tea at the bedside table nearest Will. Will could not look at her, took to brushing his little sister's hair as she slept on his chest and held him tight. Tessa stood watching over them for a long while, thinking that while Cecily had aged decades after being questioned, Will looked younger when caring for his sister. It was as if they were twins – two halves of the same whole.

"Good night, Will," she muttered finally, leaving them.

"Where's Jem?" he asked again when her back was turned to him.

"Resting," she replied, turning her head.

"Is he alright?"

"Yes. Just tired." A long pause transpired between them, their eyes locked.

"Are you alright?" he asked finally.

Tessa smiled the smallest of smiles and said faintly:

"Neither here nor there, Will."

X X X

"You know," Cecily whispered. "You really didn't have to throw that man through the window."

She stirred against him, her thick lashes batting up at him as her eyes fluttered open. Her nose upturned as he swirled the tea with a silver spoon, the scent of blueberries jolted her senses.

Will laughed, despite it all, and brought the cup of tea to her. She sat up though still in her brother's embrace. The tea smelled warm and rich, something like the home she could not place as memory or a dream. "What is that?" she asked.

"Tea, cariad. Just the way you like it. Tessa brought it over."

Cecily breathed in the scent of her tea and sighed contentedly. "She seems lovely. I like her."

Will breathed in and smiled, his teeth gritted behind his lips. "I do too."

X X X

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Wow, it took me forever to update this! I'm so sorry about that! Things have been super crazy with university and all that. I have more time to write this now, since my thesis topic proposal got disapproved and I'm moved to next term (please pray for me!) and I have the time to work on this again.

The TMI trailer? Can you say PERFECT? Jamie Campbell Bower is amazing. As is everyone else but I have a special place in my heart for JCB. Also, Clockwork Princess is in a few months – can you believe it!? Hope you liked how I incorporated that Clockwork Princess snippet on here. I'll be doing that quite often, tee hee!

Now for some clarifications! In this head canon, Will's mother is half-French in order for the lullaby thing to work. It's important because it's my head canon that Maryse Lightwood is a direct descendant from this Herondale line – which Herondale? Stick around (wink!). It's also why Ella's second name is "Maris" since it's similar with "Maryse", it did come from the Welsh name "Mari", and it's androgynous (or it has the potential to be). Thank you so much for the corrections and I'd really appreciate some research material on Victorian Wales in order to be more accurate with wording and all that.

Also, the soup mentioned in this chapter is called _Tinola_ in my country. It's really good, one of my favourite viands on white rice. It was discovered in the late 19th century and with spices that were predominantly in East Asia. In my head canon, the library of Ravenscar Manor was had been filled with mostly Asian books (not just because I, myself, am Asian – it'll play into the plot, I promise!) and Cecily then knows how to read very limited Mandarin (mostly ingredients) but does not know how to write or read it.

Thank you so, so, so very much with the reviews and comments, I really appreciate everything you guys send me! It really encourages me to update this little fic when I see that people actually like it. Detailed reviews are my favourites but any sorts of encouragement, whatever the length, are duly appreciated. I'm working very hard to keep updating regularly, while juggling work and university course work, and I think now with my dropped workload, I can finally find my balance with leisure and work.

Thank you so much for sticking around and y'all come back now! Reviews are the bee's knees and the cat's pajamas! You can follow my social networking on Twitter (jonnahohnana) or Tumblr (sisypheandreams AND/OR snapspotter).

xx, Jonnah.


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